


The Threads of Trust

by KawaiiPrinc3ssKenny



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: F/M, Multi, graphic depiction of sex, other characters make an appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KawaiiPrinc3ssKenny/pseuds/KawaiiPrinc3ssKenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the discovery that the entity she believed in was a lie, Natasha designs a system to atone for her past. Everything is going well until she makes the stupid mistake of helping Steve go after the Winter Soldier in Argentina. And now her life is a mess again.<br/><br/>This is a an attempt to merge the MCU together with the universe of the most recent Black Widow series by Nathan Edmondson and Phil Noto. Several elements are also inspired by Matt Fraction's and David Aja's Hawkeye series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buenos Aires

**Author's Note:**

> This is an action-packed, multi-chaptered fic revolving around Natasha learning to trust and love as well as to accept herself and her past. You don't need to have read the Marvel Now! Black Widow series to read this story, but I did try to base Natasha more on the way she is portrayed in the series than in the MCU. Finally, I wish this was beta-read but unfortunately it was not, so I apologize for any mistakes you might find.

**Chapter 1 - Buenos Aires**

_Shown often are the defenses around your heart_

_Anyone trying to climb_

_Will fall from high_

-Dot Hacker, Inhibition

 

Moonlight glistens over the rich dark colour of her wine as she stares into her glass, absentmindedly petting the back of the black cat purring next to her on the balcony. She stirs the wine gently, watching the light blur over the whirling liquid.

‘’And so that’s how it went, Liho.’’ she tells the cat. ‘’It was an easy mission, although it did pay very well. Or so Isaiah said, I wouldn’t know.’’

Liho doesn’t acknowledge that she’s said anything, just nudges its nose against her hand lightly to indicate that it’d like to be petted on the head too. Natasha complies. She does not know where this stray comes from, but it’s been roaming near her apartment for a while, and it’s probably her fault that it keeps coming back. She had started feeding it, unable to stand how scrawny and lost and hungry it looked. And now it tries to be let inside all the time, even though Natasha tells it to go look somewhere else. She can’t take care of a cat, not with the kind of life that she leads. Liho is a stubborn animal, though, and it waits on Natasha’s porch every evening, asking to be fed, petted, cared for. It joins her on the balcony when she sits there and Natasha does not really know why she lets it or why she always want to scratch that warm spot behind its ears, or talks to it all the time.

Talking helped her feel better. But it was hard, talking to other people. It took so much effort to get close to someone, to navigate the finely woven threads of debt and hurt, trust and loyalty. The cat was a great alternative because it had no clue what she even said, and because a relationship with a stray cat in New York City was non-committal in a reassuring way. She did not owe this cat anything. And it was a cat: it would manage, with or without her. Liho was neutral in a way that people could not be: it had no opinion, no moral standards, no preconceived idea of how she was supposed to be and did not give a damn of who she was. She was comfortable with that, and so this thing she had with this stray black cat was perhaps as close as friendship as she could ever hope to get with anyone else than Clint.

It was best that she suppressed the thought of Steve, whenever she thought about friendship. His words kept echoing in her mind like a haunting ghost call. How about a friend?

‘’Do you think Steve has found him, by now?’’ she murmurs almost inaudibly, only for Liho. The stray yawns, stretching lazily.

Natasha takes another sip of wine. She’s leaving tomorrow morning for a mission in Argentina and she knows she should try to get some sleep: it’s well past one already, and needs the rest, if she is to infiltrate a high security prison and help escape a wrongfully incarcerated prisoner through a subtropical forest. So she finishes her glass and rises to her feet. She’s about to get inside when Liho lets out a small, heart-wrenching miaowl and starts weaving around her legs, rubbing itself on her ankles, begging to be let in.

‘’I’m sorry, Liho’’ she says, suppressing the poignant ache in her chest as she goes on ‘’but you know the rules: we can hang out, sure, and I will feed you when I’m home, but I will not adopt you. And you can’t lick me.’’

Natasha lets herself in her apartment, avoiding to look at Liho’s miserable expression at being turned down again.

‘’I’m sorry’’ she says again to herself ‘’but I can’t let you in. Even if you're just a cat.’’

 

***

 

The mission in Argentina goes well, until she realises just who she’s been freeing. Her client turns out not to be who he claimed to, and so she makes sure he disappears for good. She won’t get paid and she’s forfeited her extraction and Isaiah will complain again about her being broke, but she’s done the right thing, she’s sure. She knows, because Steve would probably have done the same, and Steve is the standard she uses to gauge her actions now. It’s a demanding standard - the highest - but if she is to atone for her past, then it should be on Steve’s terms (not that she would ever admit it to him).

It’s a long walk through the forest until she reaches a city big enough for there to offer transportation to the capital. She catches a night bus for Buenos Aires and tries to sleep despite the noise and the bumpy roads. The Black Widow reaches the city by morning and promptly retreats into her web.

She sleeps for the most part of the day and then wakes up to tend to her wounds properly. They’re superficial, all scratches and cuts, and her ankle might be slightly sprained. Mostly she needs a shower. But she’s also extremely hungry and for a moment she hesitates: should she eat first and then shower? Or shower and then eat? But the only food she keeps here is dehydrated army stuff that keeps forever and tastes like crap and she can’t go out smelling like she does. So the shower wins.

She’s eating take-out in front of her laptop, waiting for the application to load so she can call Isaiah and ask for extraction. The web browser is open on the other half of her screen as she checks the local news, curious to know if her target’s body has been found or if his escape from prison has even been announced. Suddenly a headline catches her eye. ¿Esta Captain America in Buenos Aires? The article speculates over whether or not the fighter that had been captured on blurry cell phone shots the previous day was Captain America. The man on the pictures wore standard fighting gear and was not using a shield. From the angle, one couldn't see much of his face, but Natasha could recognize those strong shoulders and the curve of that jaw among thousands, even on blurry, crappy enlarged shots like those attached to the article. Steve was in Buenos Aires, and that could only mean one thing: the Winter Soldier was there, too.

Her first reaction is a strong desire to call Steve. But this is not her fight, and she knows better than get involved in that whole situation. There is a lot that she has not told Steve, a lot that she's not ready to tell him, feelings, also, that shouldn't be there between them, that are best left ignored. Better just to call Isaiah and go home. She closes the web browser and turns to the phone application that's finished loading by now. For a long time her cursor hovers on Isaiah's name, but she's distracted by the name that, per alphabetical order, comes just before her lawyer's in her contact list. Rogers, Steve. She stares and stares at it. And then a new window opens and suddenly half his face pops up on screen. He is holding his phone at a weird angle, and she can only see his nose, mouth and chin.

"Hey Natasha! It's Natasha" she hears him tell Sam before he turns back to her. "How're you doing? It's been a while" He sounds surprised.

"Rogers, please hold your phone so I can see your face."

"Really? Already scolding? You've not even said hello." His tone sounds chipper, though, and he moves to hold his phone a bit higher.

"Hi, Steve. You look good" she says with a smile when she finally sees his eyes.

"I’m good, or at least better than I was back in DC. You?"

"I heard you're in Buenos Aires."

"News get around fast, I see."

"Some asshole with a cell phone caught some pictures of you fighting yesterday. You made the local news."

"Ah crap, I knew that fight would probably get me into trouble. Is there trouble? Is that why you're calling?"

"Well that depends, I know a lot of people who would certainly call _me_ trouble." she pauses for dramatic effect. "I'm in Buenos Aires too."

"On a mission?"

"Well, I was. Went sour, though. What about you, got any lead on the Winter Soldier?"

"Yeah, yeah actually. Hey, about that, Nat, I could really use another teammate. Since you're here and all, why don’t you join us tomorrow?"

"Hey, admit it, Rogers, you just miss me." she winks, tone playful and just a tiny bit flirty.

Steve just smiles and looks at her in the eyes with that unnerving earnest look and says: "Yeah, that too."

It takes all of Natasha's self-control not to let herself blush at his words. The fact that Steve Rogers can make the Black Widow blush is a secret she intends to take into her grave.

"How about you join us in the morning at our hotel? I'll text you the address."

"Sounds fine."

"Alright, Nat. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Rogers."

She calls Isaiah to announce that she'll stay in Buenos Aires for a couple of days.

 

***

 

Mornings are cool in Buenos Aires this time of year and Natasha is glad that it doesn’t take her long to walk to Sam and Steve's hotel. She keeps one hand in the pocket of her black leather coat to keep it warm, but the other is out in the cold, holding a bag of fresh croissants she bought from a local bakery. The hotel, similar to all hotels of its kind, is located in a straight and narrow street flanked with high, white-grayish buildings. It’s non-descript and sober, and the surroundings feel a bit lifeless, but maybe that’s just because it’s still early.

Sam greets her at the door with a warm embrace, says he's glad to see her and welcomes her inside, locking the door behind. She steps into a small living room with a blue leather couch that looks like it's seen better days. There is a small coffee table and an old TV set; a couple of books line an otherwise empty bookshelf in the corner. She sets her coat on the couch and her bag on the coffee table, then turns just as Steve appears from one of the rooms, hair damp and looking like he's fresh out of the shower, white towel in hand.

"Hey, soldier." she greets, lips slightly curling in a teasing smirk.

"Hey yourself. C'mere Natasha, I haven't seen you in ten months." he gestures for her to come to him, arms open, and takes a few steps in her direction.

His unrestrained friendliness surprises her and she hesitates slightly. Old instinct warns her that this is wrong, that she should block him while she can; yet another part of her yearns to dive into his arms, inhale his clean, masculine scent and to hide her face into his chest. Indulge, says the voice. Yielding, she closes the distance between them, presses her body against his and lets herself be enveloped in his strong, gentle embrace. It's been forever since she last let herself be held like this, since she enjoyed it so much, and suddenly her memories seem like they're from a lifetime ago, like they're someone else's.

"It’s good to see you" says Steve as they break apart, and she finds she echoes the feeling.

She saw him last in the graveyard in front of Nick Fury’s fake tombstone, when she handed him the Winter Soldier’s file she had worked so hard to obtain. She was on the verge of breaking down, then, tangled in so many lies and interlacing identities, crushed under the weight of her past and of her paradoxical, conflicted ways; she’d almost taken his offer at a new definition for herself. A friend. With S.H.I.E.L.D. gone, everything she relied on went to ground and Steve Rogers alone, then, appeared worthy of trust to her. But she couldn’t do it, couldn’t go with him, not on this new quest of his that would unfailingly bring forward secrets and memories since long locked away in the darkest corners of her mind.

"You, too." she replies truthfully. "So let’s get started, tell me about your big plan."

"Well...there’s no plan yet" Steve says, scratching the back of his neck. "I thought it best to wait for you, actually."

"Well aren’t I flattered. But first things first: do you guys have a kettle in there?"

"Oh yeah, there’s an electric kettle in the kitchenette over there" answers Sam, pointing to the room. ‘’But there is no tea.’’

‘’Don’t worry, I brought my own.’’

 

***

 

The three of them sit together in the living room, Sam and Natasha on the couch while Steve sits in a small wooden chair he’s taken from his room. He briefs her short and sweet between sips of coffee; at intervals Sam stops himself from devouring the croissants long enough to add a detail or confirm a fact. Natasha blows on her hot tea, the warmth of the mug diffusing into her fingers.

According to the intel they’ve gathered, the Winter Soldier - Bucky, as Steve calls him - is in Buenos Aires seeking after Dr. Tomas Delgado Vargas, a fairly renowned Argentinian neuroscientist who, 8 years ago, upon the Winter Soldier’s acquisition by Hydra from the KGB, had accepted a rather large sum of money to reprogram the Asset to his new masters’ needs. However, nothing indicated that the scientist had joined Hydra then: if the information they had collected was reliable, Dr. Delgado Vargas had simply performed his task, and then stepped out.

"It seems weird to me, though" opines Sam, "that Hydra would leave such a witness alive. Either the man was Hydra or they had a sure way to buy his silence."

"Or they could have wiped his memories and the doctor would never know that he’d done it."

"I don’t think so" Natasha chimes in. "If you know that Delgado Vargas was paid a lot of money, that’s because whoever provided you with this intel was able to trace back the deposit. If they were going to wipe the doctor’s memories, why bother paying him, then? I’m willing to bet Hydra kept him alive in case they needed his expertise again."

"That’s plausible" declares Steve. "Anyhow, Delgado Vargas is alive and Bucky is after him. I’m not quite sure why yet. Revenge? Questioning? All I know is that Bucky will probably make his move tomorrow."

"What makes you so sure?"

"We’ve been monitoring the doctor’s mansion for the past few days" answers Sam, "that’s how we ran into a Hydra squad, and those pictures you saw on the news were taken. Those guys wanted to recapture Bucky and they were doing the same thing as we were."

Picking up Sam’s explanation, Steve adds that from what they were able to find out, the doctor’s family would be leaving for a countryside property and that most of the employees would be accompanying the wife and children there. The doctor would be at his most vulnerable and if Bucky meant to kill him, then there was a minimum risk of collateral damage.

Devising a plan to infiltrate the doctor’s mansion is no hard task, but as the preparations take a more concrete turn, Natasha becomes increasingly nervous. The whole morning she has been questioning her own motives and contradictory actions. Any confrontation with the Winter Soldier is best to be avoided, doubly so when there's a chance he might be able to recognize her now, and she doesn't want that. Not in Steve's presence, anyway. The possibility of it happening makes her apprehensive and edgy. She’s choking, cowardly so. But she cannot turn back now, cannot sabotage Steve’s effort. She grows distant, distressed; it takes her a lot of concentration and self-control just to prevent her hands from shaking. She conceals it well, and Sam is clueless, but Steve, observant as ever, notices.

''What's wrong, Nat? You look shaken.''

She needs to distract him, she thinks, alerted. It is harder than most believe to fool Captain America, but the Black Widows knows of most his weaknesses and appealing to his caring side should be no trouble.

"It's alright,''' she says in weak voice, I am cold and I haven't slept much, is all. I feel kind of sick.''

Steve's worried expression fades to gentle concern and he offers to get a blanket from his room. As he rises to retrieve it, Sam gets up and takes his seat, addressing her a caring smile.

''Just get him to sit by you. The guy should be called Human Radiator, man.''

Soon Natasha finds herself half-curled in Steve's lap, wrapped in a checkered blanket that faintly carries his smell. He's warm and she revels in the feeling, faking exhaustion. His scent invades her senses and for a while she completely forgets about the Winter Soldier. Steve holds her firmly against him, visibly enjoying the physical contact, and she doesn't misses the quick, tender glances he turns to her while she's hacking through Delgado Vargas' security system on her cell phone. They make her stomach clench with guilt for playing him like that but she can handle the loving glances better than she could his questioning, and Natasha's always been the selfish kind.

In the evening Steve goes out to buy dinner and Sam makes her realizes just how much she's been playing with fire.

"So you and the Cap, huh?"

"Uh... No, nothing like that."

"C'mon, Natasha, don't deny it. I'm not blind, you know? And between you and me, I'm glad you're feeling the same, 'cause he's been talking about you non-stop for the past 10 months. I mean, when he wasn't talking about Bucky."

''I don't...''

''Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Hey, should I make myself scarce tonight?''

"Oh, no, thank you, Sam, but that won’t be necessary. I'm not, I mean, I'm not looking for that.''

Shit.

 

***

 

After dinner, Steve asks her to accompany him on a walk and she's kind of forced to accept by Sam, who seems to be taking his role as Steve's wingman extremely seriously. The autumn wind carries the smells of the city, cold against her exposed skin. They walk around the streets aimlessly, unhurried. Natasha feels at peace, a welcome feeling after the skittishness and unease that the prospect of going after the Winter Soldier caused her earlier. They’re mostly silent, until Steve asks her about what she’s been up to since the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.. In vague terms, she tells him about the missions she’s been taking on her own account.

"I realised that I had to take responsibility, you know... instead of always deferring to a higher authority. I wanted to control who I worked for, wanted to set my own terms, so that I’d never be caught working for the bad guys again. Ignorance is no excuse.’’

Steve tells her that he’s worried she’s trying to carry a load far too heavy for her shoulders - for anyone’s shoulders - he corrects quickly after she shots him a deadly glare.

They buy _churros_ from a street vendor and she laughs at him for accidentally dropping some _dulce de leche_ on his chin. The sun has almost set when they cross a small park and suddenly it occurs to her that this feels exactly like a date. Steve has even reached for her hand at some point, and she’d let him hold it. Swiftly she untangles her fingers from his, mentally beating herself up for her recklessness. She’s been playing with fire, cruelly playing with his heart for her own selfish reasons. Heartbeat uneven, she nonetheless manages to thank him politely for the walk and the _churros_.

"It’s getting late. I better go back… I’ll join you and Sam in the morning."

Steve, of course, insists to walk her to her place.

"Cap," she says rolling her eyes, "you know I don’t need an escort."

"I know, but it would make me feel better."

"Sorry. No one is supposed to know about the Black Widow’s web."

"Your web?"

"My network of safehouses. Their location is classified, and you, Captain Rogers, don’t have clearance."

He laughs. "Okay, okay. I won’t insist. See you tomorrow, Nat."

He looks at her and for a brief moment she fears that he will be bold enough to kiss her. But ultimately he opts for her hand, lifting it to his lips.

"Good night, Steve."


	2. Yasha

_I'll pretend my heart's not on fire_

_If you steal my true love's name_

\- Norah Jones, Young Blood

 

The boys are in full combat gear when she joins them at their appointed rallying point. She’s 5 minutes late. That’s really not her style and Steve knows it, eyebrows knitted with worry as he asks her what happened. She mumbles something about getting lost, but he doesn’t buy it and eyes her with suspicion. The truth is, she had been stalling all morning. She almost bailed out, to be honest, that's how terrified she is to confront the Winter Soldier again, but she could not bring herself to fail Steve, not when he counted on her help.

"So, this is how we do this" begins Steve. They are hiding in a narrow, shady alley perpendicular to Delago Vargas’ mansion, waiting for his wife and kids to depart for the countryside. "Sam, you get to the roof, I need you to be my eyes from up there, try to..."

"Spot Bucky, I know Cap, we agreed on this plan last night."

"Hey, just to make sure. Nat, you’re with me, we’ll get in through the side entrance near the kitchen. You think you can get it open?"

"Child’s play. I’ll get it open for you, but then I am going through the vents."

"What? No, we both take the floor. That was our plan."

"I know. But I’ve changed my mind. If I’m careful, Barnes might not notice that I’m in there, and I will have a better visual. I can even guide you through the rooms like Clint does."

"That’s not what we agreed on. I want you with me, Natasha, stick to the plan."

"If you know me by now Rogers, then you know that I don’t play by anyone’s rules."

Steve has a hard time concealing the wave of anger that rises within him then, he’s furious at her stubbornness, at the unnerving thrust of her chin, boldly lifted in challenge. Her face hardens and suddenly she’s cold and distant as ever, and he’s painfully reminded of how slippery and inconsistent she is. No matter how tight he thinks his grasp on her might be, she will always elude him. His narrowed eyes lock with hers. He will not yield,  but she won't, either. Awkwardly Sam attempts to resolve the conflict.

''It isn't our plan,'' he prods ''but it's not such a bad idea, Cap. Natasha might be able to attack from a distance, if need be. She can have your back from up there too.''

Steve unclenches his fists then, and he finally looks away. ''Okay, okay... I just... If you're up there I can't have _your_ back and...'' he sighs ''yeah, forget it.''

''I'll manage, Rogers.''

''I know.''

They fall into action as soon as the gray Mercedes with Delgado Vargas' family aboard leaves their line of sight. They hope to get inside before Barnes does and to stop him as soon as he sets foot into the place. Sam gets in position first and green lights them to proceed after a quick survey of the perimeter. Natasha has programmed the security system to unlock the kitchen door from her phone and she only has to press a button to get them in. Once inside, she climbs into Steve joined hands and he lifts her so she can remove the lid of the ventilation duct and crawl into it.

Natasha orients herself through the vents using a map she's extracted from the mansion's blueprints and uploaded into her phone. She stops over a room when she suddenly hears an exclamation in Spanish and quietly lowers her body to the bottom of the duct to press her face against the ventilation trap. Lined with heavily filled bookshelves, the room below has an austere look about it. She can make out a disorganized desk, covered with stacks of papers, several books and a laptop fitted with an external mouse.

''No me haga mal, por favor no me haga mal!" exclaims the same voice again.

Natasha twists her neck to see better. A flash of silver is the first thing to catch her eye. Fuck.

Barnes is holding the neuroscientist by the collar, tall and menacing, hovering above the middle-aged argentinian who sits frozen in fear in his leather chair.

"No lo haré nada si me ayuda. Me recuerda, si? Quiero que cancela lo que ha hecho a mi cerebro hay 8 años. Ahora."

It feels weird to hear the Winter Soldier speak Spanish. She didn't know he could. At least now she knows that Barnes isn't there for revenge and doesn't mean to kill the scientist. He just asked him to erase the programming he'd performed 8 years ago. Curious to see where this is leading, Natasha waits to hear more before she signals Barnes' presence to Steve.

"No puedo ahora" replies Delgado Vargas, "lo que requiere toma tiempo, necesita instrumentos que no tengo."

"Ahora!" barks Barnes threateningly. "Dalo que puedo, y veremos después por los instrumentos."

"Vale, vale... Sigueme al laboratorio, por favor."

Natasha waits for Barnes and the doctor to head for the lab before speaking into the comm. Barnes has enhanced hearing like Steve, and it's best not to risk being heard.

"Cap, Barnes is already here, luckily not to kill, he wants the doctor to erase his programming."

"Can he do that, the doctor?"

"Probably not. He says that would take time and equipment he doesn't have, but Barnes seems impatient. They're heading for the lab now."

"Got it."

Natasha follows through the vents, reaching the lab shortly after Barnes. She hears him exclaim "no!" and letting out a frustrated groan before the sound of a punch resonates through the room. A cell phone falls to the floor, glass screen shattered, as Delgado Vargas slumps to the ground, unconscious. "Idiot" mutters the Winter Soldier. Natasha has only managed to see part of the action but she guesses the scientist has probably tried to call for help. Quickly Barnes hauls the doctor's body over his shoulder. He has only taken a few steps outside the lab when Steve appears in front of him, effectively blocking his way. The Winter Soldier stops short in his tracks, face blank and inexpressive as ever as he assumes a fighting stance.

Steve lifts his arms in surrender. "Hey Buck, it's okay, I'm not here to fight you. I just want you to let this man go. Please."

"Move." The Winter Soldier's voice is low and threatening, completely void of emotion.

"This man can't help you, Buck. I can. I know people who can, people that I trust."

"I said move."

"C'mon, you know I won't. Come home, Bucky. Please stop running."

"I'm not Bucky" Barnes hisses before turning right back on his heels and running into the lab.

Natasha sees him close the heavy metal doors, break the leg of a metal chair with his left arm and bend the leg around the handles. She follows as he runs into another room. Steve's shield will surely make short work of the heavy lab doors, but she might still get to Barnes first. Suddenly she's hit with the instinctive notion that he's headed for the garage: he'll want to escape with a car now that he knows Steve's here. Cap can probably outrun him, after all.

Barnes has almost made it to the garage when she jumps on him, effectively toppling him to the ground. Delgado Vargas' limp body lands on the cold tiles with a thud while both assassins swiftly roll to get back on their feet. There is extreme sharpness in the Winter Soldier's movements as he reaches for a knife while spinning to face her and she only manages to avoid it because he's the one who taught her to throw knives like that. For a moment he stares at her, taking in his assailant. She's small and lightly built yet her black catsuit reveals lush, generous curves. Her eyes are hard, focussed; her face entirely devoid of expression. He thinks she's familiar, he knows someone with hair just as red, someone nice, someone he likes. She's familiar.

He might have been idle for a moment because she's initiating the attack, launching herself at him with admirable force and elegance. He blocks her blows and kicks, retaliates with punches of his own and she ducks all of them with ease. He tries a different angle and she escapes the blow by executing a perfect backflip, creating distance between them. His mind flashes with recognition then, as he watches her collect herself, preparing her next assault.

"Natalia"

Her face remains as neutral as it was before, but her eyes glow stronger as she runs straight at him. He knows what she's doing, has seen her perform this move hundreds of times. He could easily avoid it, but he doesn't budge. She jumps and lands on his shoulders, bringing him down with her thighs, and twists so she ends up on top of him, her knee to his throat. She looks angry.

"Yasha"

They glare at each other. He wants to say something, but such a feeling is still strange to him, and his throat feels dry, constricted by Natalia's knee. He doesn't know how to sort the flood of feelings that submerge him then, can't even begin to form a complete, sensible thought. Then a flash of red and blue distracts him as Steve finally barges into the room and he panics.

"Sorry Natalia" comes out in a whisper before he pushes her off him with barely restrained strength. She flies across the room, eyes wide, and crashes against the wall; he's already up and running when she falls limp onto the floor.

"Natasha!" he hears Steve's worried cry fade into the distance.

For a split instant, Steve hesitates, wanting to run after his friend. But when he glances at her unconscious form slumped on the tiles, he knows he can't leave her.

"Sam, get ready to follow Bucky, he should be out of the garage any moment now. Don't lose sight of him!" he orders as he cradles her head into his arm, lifting her.

"On it!"

***

The first thing Natasha becomes aware of as she regains consciousness is Steve's smell surrounding her. It's dark and it takes her a moment to make sense of where she is, to understand that she's safe, tucked into Steve's bed back at the hotel. Her head hurts something fierce, hard enough to make her dizzy. She groans, pressing her hands to her temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain.

Sam comes into the room holding a glass of water and several painkillers.

"Hey" he says softly, "Glad to see you've woken up. Barnes knocked you out pretty hard."

"Yeah. Have I been out long?"

"No, we just got here actually. I'm gonna get Cap. Here, take these and rest."

"Thanks"  

Steve is beside her in no time, concern written all over his face.

"Hey. How are you?"

"Well, I got one hell of a headache. Otherwise I don't think I'm hurt."

"You should probably see a doctor. I think you suffered a pretty bad concussion."

"I'll be fine. Once these painkillers start taking effect anyway. So, did you catch up Barnes?"

"No", he sighs "Sam lost sight of him pretty fast after Bucky go out. He's off the grid again."

"Well, he _was_ trained to be a ghost."

Steve hesitates. There is a question at the tip of his mouth, one that he's struggling to formulate, pondering if he should even ask.

"What is it, Rogers?"

"What... did you tell Bucky just before he pushed you?"

"Nothing special" she lies without skipping a beat, "I told him to give in."

"It looked...The look on his face when I got there, it looked like he knew you."

It shakes Natasha to the core, to hear this from Steve. She's not ready to make this confession. She doesn't think she'll ever be.

"He doesn't."

She gets up from his bed, avoids looking at him as she passes him on her way to the kitchenette to refill her glass of water. There are granola bars on the counter and she grabs one, needing something to fill up her empty stomach. Steve is on her tail.  

"There are also fruits in the fridge, if you're hungry."

"Thanks."

When she turns to him she sees that her lie did not convince him. He looks at her as if his stare, if held long enough, could unearth all of her secrets. Unease and guilt creep their way up her spine: it feels like his stare could exactly do that and she’s scared shitless at the thought of him seeing right through her, of him knowing her bare.

"Is there...something you're not telling me, Nat? I've got this feeling you're hiding something."

Anger, as a last resort form of protection, bubbles underneath her skin. Her past in her own. How dare this man believe it his right, to know everything about her, to demand answers she can't give?

"You feel wrong." she replies, icy cold.

She's out of the kitchenette before he can add anything, already gathering her stuff.

"Hey, where are you going? Dammit, Nat, you can't walk around like that, you just got a concussion."

"I'm fine."

"If you're going back to your web, at least let me take you. Just to make sure you’re okay. We can call a cab."

"I said I'm fine, Steve. Leave me alone."

"Please, Nat... I didn't want to upset you."

"Well you did. Good luck chasing Barnes. I'm going back to New York."

 


	3. I Won't Think About That Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to find out whether Natasha calling Bucky ''Yasha'' was canon, and from what I could gather, it isn't. But I love the idea and I thank whoever thought of it first for I will be using it shamelessly. 
> 
> I made up all of Isaiah's background in this chapter and it's been a lot of fun to reflect on what that character's past or motives for working with Natasha might be. There isn't much known about him in the comics. I'm only at issue 14 or 15 though, whatever's been made available last on Marvel Unlimited, so I don't know if there is more about him in the more recent issues.
> 
> Also, the title of this chapter is in fact a quote from Gone with the Wind. It could be considered one of Scarlett O'Hara's catchphrase, as it is repeated many times throughout the book, in some variation or other and it goes like ''I won't think about that now, I'll think of it later when I can stand it.''

 

_Our fears are only what we tell them to be_

-Norah Jones, Young Blood

Isaiah picks her up at the airport around noon. The crowded flight has tired her and she's grateful to him for not asking any questions. Isaiah has never been curious about what she did and this lack of interest in her personal affairs is a trait Natasha appreciates in her lawyer. Harsh, but just and trustworthy, he’s almost too good to be true and she’s aware of how lucky she is that he was willing to embark on this atonement project with her. None of what she had built for herself in the last six months would have been possible without Isaiah.

 Specialized as a defense attorney, Isaiah Ross was a Harvard graduate with a background in finance. He had worked several years in the CIA’s legal department,  where he had received special training and undergone thorough security examinations. He was vastly qualified, but more importantly for Natasha, he was renowned for his extreme discretion. Matt Murdock, when questioned, had vouched for the man's reliability, warning her not to be fooled by his air of innocence; he was quite capable - and willing - to get his hands dirty if need should arise.

 On the highway back to Manhattan, Isaiah offers to take her to a diner. She knows that this is to talk about her next potential job in a neutral location, but she is glad to accept nonetheless. She likes eating out with Isaiah: their relationship, strictly professional, allows her to enjoy the presence of another human being at her side without all the complications of friendship. She’s comfortable with that.

 ‘’Do you know a place for a good club sandwich?’’

 

***

 

They share a monstrous club sandwich and a heaping mountain of crispy fries at a non-descript, all-american diner.The waitress, a chubby blonde in a white-and-orange, retro-inspired uniform, has kindly accepted to bring an extra plate so they could divide the food.

 ‘’So,’’ begins Isaiah after a sip of water ‘’since we didn’t get paid for that stunt in Argentina, I have been looking for another job for you.’’

‘’Of course. You keep pestering me about my unsteady cash flow.’’

‘’Well, someone has to make sure your gains at least match your expenses and generous donations. ’’

‘’And you’re doing it admirably’’ grins Natasha, shoving a fry into her mouth. ‘’So, what’s the job about?’’

‘’Retrieving a stolen violin. A Stradivarius, valued at 3.7 million euros.’’

‘’No shit?’’ she squealed with excitement ‘’I was offered that job?’’

‘’No shit. I worked hard to get you that deal. I thought you would like Vienna.’’

‘’I love Vienna. You're amazing! Oh, Isaiah, tell me more good news.’’

‘’Well, it pays really well. It won’t be simple, however. There is next to no lead on the burglar, at least from what I could gather. But I have no doubt that you can do better than the local police.’’

‘'I’m not tied down with bureaucracy, so that’s a start.’’

 Isaiah promises to e-mail her the file and to get her plane tickets. Since she has no safe house in Vienna, though, he asks about what lodging arrangements he should make for her.

 ‘’Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can get Clint to let me use his.’’

‘’In that case, please thank Mr. Barton on my behalf.’’

 

***

 

 The owner of the Stradivarius, she discovers, is a fifty-seven year old Austrian gentleman whose family, generations ago, had belonged to the Austrian nobility. The von Wiernes had acquired the instrument in the late 19th century, and it had remained in the family collection since then.  Though legally the violin was recorded as his, Mr. Konrad von Wiernes did not play it; in that sense, his daughter, a 22-year old musical prodigy, was the true owner of the instrument. Natasha gazed at the pictures of the young violinist, a lightly built woman with a pretty oval face, aquiline nose and almond-shaped hazel eyes. On the pictures, her chestnut brown hair is severely tied in a bun atop her head, hardening her traits. There is something about the daughter that draws Natasha, and she immediately decides that she likes her.

 The file does not contain much information, but she reads everything: the public police report, a couple of newspaper articles commenting on the instrument’s disappearance, information about the family members and history, a list of their properties. All the while Natasha tries not to look at Liho, standing on its hind legs on the window’s edge, tapping at the glass and meowling, asking to be let in. She sees its little paws press against the surface obstinately and has to force herself to getkeep reading: work is her top priority, especially this atonement work. The red in her ledger, it’s spread so thick, so deep; she can’t rest, not when there’s still so much wrong to right, so many debts to pay.

 It’s almost evening when she allows herself to step out on the balcony with bowls full of cat food and fresh water. Liho wastes no time to join her and rubs itself against her legs for a long time, purring contentedly. She pets and scratches it, nuzzles her nose in its pretty black fur, murmurs  strings of sweet nothings to it ears, russian nicknames and pleasant words she never said louder than a whisper, even then, even with him.

 ‘’You should find someone else, Liho. Someone who will take better care of you.’’

 But Liho only stares at her and yawns.

 

***

 

By miracle, Natasha sleeps well that night. No nightmare, no panic attack, no nerve-wracking apprehension to prevent her from absolute slumber. In the morning she grants herself the right to oversleep, to indulge in the pleasant softness of her mattress and the freshness of her sheets.

 It takes a phone call from Clint to get her out of bed. She is strongly tempted to ignore it, but then she remembers that she wants to ask him about using his safe house in Vienna and the thought of her next mission manages to wake her up completely.

 It turns out that Clint is only calling to ask how she is, which is unusual but not unheard of. She wonders if he got word of what happened in Argentina, if Steve has asked him to check up on her. Clint agrees to go shopping with her; there’s no one else she likes to shop guns with as much as him. He’s got a fine eye for firearms, and she needs two new pistols, small, discreet, steady light models that she can safely wear on garters. She’ll probably need them in Vienna, considering the kind of society she’ll need to blend in to retrieve the Stradivarius.   

 She’s quick to get ready, pulling on a pair of supple green pants, an off-white blouse and a brown leather coat. The morning air is cold, but sunlight is flooding everything, generous and resplendent, a sure promise that the day will only get warmer. It hits her then, as she inhales a breath of fresh air, that just two days ago the wind that kissed her skin had smelled of fallen leaves and cold: it was fall in Argentina this time of year. In comparison, the May wind in New York carries faint traces of apple blossoms.

 Liho is curled on her porch and watches her in resigned silence as she leaves to join Clint. She doesn’t have the heart to glance in its direction.  

 

***

 

It’s because of the cat that she knows something is wrong. It lays, neatly folded on the window's edge, basking in the fading sunshine.

 Inside her apartment.

 Gun in hand, Natasha silently opens the door. She’s alert, muscles taut and ready as she presses stealthily against the hallway wall. She’s holding her breath, listening for any clue.

 Suddenly the door closes and locks behind her; she spins around speedily, pointing her gun at the intruder. She’s about to press the trigger when she recognizes him, a flash of silver in her vision. Very few people can intrude on the Black Widow: the Winter Soldier is one of them.

 She’s furious, gun held high, stance menacing.

 ‘’Hello, Natalia.’’ His face is mostly blank, but she sees his adam's apple bob into his throat as he swallows with nervousness. He’s uneasy, but he isn’t afraid.

 She lowers her gun, confronts him with silence. He will logically tell her why he’s here, she doesn’t need to press.  

 ‘’I remembered you.’’

‘’You gave that away at ‘’Hello Natalia’’, you know.’’

‘’You’re sharp as ever, I see.’’ he says with a cautious half-smile.

‘’You, too. To intrude on me like this.’’

 The Winter Soldier looks unsure of what to say next. Cautious, hesitating.

 ‘’I’m hungry.’’ he finally lets out, taking her off guard.

‘’So first you let the cat in and then you want to be fed too? Do you suppose I’m running a stray shelter here or what?’’

‘’Is this not your cat?’’

‘’No.’’

 An awkward pause follows, in which she’s torn by the fierce desire to cradle him in her arms forever and the alarmed need to kick him out. He looks like he’s inches from running away. She breathes in and closes her eyes. _My fears are only what I tell them to be_ , she reminds herself. And: _I won’t think about that now. I’ll think of it later when I can stand it_. Precious mantras, words to draw strength from in the face of her past.

 ‘’Okay, okay’’ she admits defeat, hands lifted in surrender. ‘’Steve would kill me if he knew I’d let you starve.’’

 But still he doesn’t move - if anything he looks closer to running away than he did a few moments ago - so she reaches for his flesh hand, slow and careful. He lets her take it but doesn’t squeeze back. She guides him to the couch.

 ‘’Here. Sit there. You can watch TV or something. I’ll fix us something quick.’’

 He nods curtly and sits, ramrod straight against the cushions. She retreats to the kitchen to start dinner. From behind the counter she notices the tension slowly seeping out of his shoulders as he acclimates himself to the feeling of being welcome. His eyes become softer too, his stare vague as he looks around the apartment. She starts chopping vegetables to prepare a chicken sauté, but his presence makes her nervous, and she keeps glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, hoping to be subtle enough not to make him feel spied on.    

 Suddenly Liho jumps from its spot on the window’s edge, landing on the floor tiles with a soft thud. Immediately it trots in his direction, sniffs him carefully from a short distance. And then it’s weaving figure eights around his feet, purring and rubbing its head against his ankles. The Winter Soldier looks terrified, frozen in place.

 She has to laugh then, at the look of utter fear crisping his traits, at this expression she’s never seen him wear before. Yasha, her fearless soldier, the love of her past life, is sitting on her couch in terror as a cat purrs at his feet. Her laugh upsets him though, and he carefully pushes the cat away from him with his boot.

 Liho isn’t deterred and comes trotting back to him. Natasha strides to the couch, smiling gently not to scare or upset him further. She sits, pats him  on the back reassuringly, and then taps her own knees with her palms.

 ‘’Come up here, Liho!’’

 The cat happily complies, leaping on Natasha’s lap in one powerful, elegant motion. It starts rubbing itself on her arms and chest, purring even louder.

 ‘’See? It just wants to be petted.’’

 She extends her hand, palm upside down for him to reach. She squeezes gently when he does, and this time he squeezes back, eyes glued to hers. She drags his hand to place it on Liho’s back.

 ‘’It’s okay, you can pet it. It’s a nice cat.’’

 Liho looks extremely happy. It rubs its head fiercely against his hand, emboldening him. Soon the cat has crossed his way to Yasha’s lap and sprawled itself on his thighs, purring as the world’s most feared assassin scratches its ears. Natasha gets back to her cooking, cuts chicken breasts into thin stripes, prepares rice. She feels better now; all of her nervousness and anger has somehow vanished. She’s relieved that her reunion with the Winter Soldier does not take place before Steve. Maybe she will find the courage to explain everything to him, in the end. Maybe everything’s going to turn out ok.

 She’s so absorbed into her thoughts that she doesn’t notice her guest has left the couch and is now standing on the other side of the counter, watching her. Letting her guard down in the presence of the Soldier is unforgivable, she scolds herself.

 ‘’Do you need help?’’

 She lifts her gaze to take him in, taken aback. This day seems to get weirder by the minute. The Winter  Soldier in her kitchen, offering help. Does this man even know how to cook? She keeps her stare on him a few moments, studying him, not knowing what to think. Finally she notices how rough and unkempt he looks in his rumpled clothes with his beard unshaved and long hair sticking out in every direction.

 "You look like you could use a shower, you know? Come with me."

 She leads him to the bathroom, hands him a towel and leaves a minute to get him clean clothes.

 "Here, these sweatpants are my friend Clint's. He's a little taller than you, but I have nothing else. The t-shirt is Steve's. He doesn't know I've stolen it from him so keep it secret, will you?" she smiles. "Take your time, I'll be fixing us dinner, come out when you're ready."

He nods and proceeds to take off his own shirt. The sight of his bare chest and scarred shoulder is almost too much for her to take in as memories flood her brain. She had worshipped this skin, kissed those very scars, curled in his arms at night in silence for fear of being found out. To this day she can barely think of when they took him away, to the atrocities they made them suffer to convince them that whatever piece of happiness they might have found in each other was not worth it. She stares away and goes back to the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

 Yasha comes out smelling of her floral shampoo. He looks far less menacing in sweatpants and as they sit down to eat, Natasha is shocked at the domesticity of the situation.

 "I was wondering if I should call Steve" she says, shoving a forkful of rice into her mouth.

He shakes his head vehemently. "No."

"Okay, I won't. But you should know that he is extremely worried about you."

"I don't remember enough."

"I understand that you're not ready. But Steve isn't lying. We know people that can help you."

"He wants Bucky back. I don't know...." he trails off. "When you called me Yasha.... I was okay with that."

 Natasha's heart catches in her throat. She doesn’t miss the words he leaves unsaid: "it’s easier".

 "That's a start."

 Liho chooses this moment to jump from the couch where it had been lounging and run across the living room to join them in the kitchen. It weaves around Yasha's legs for a minute before lying at his feet.

 "This cat likes you a lot!" she laughs.

"Mmmpphh’’ Yasha groans non-committally. ‘’Why do you keep it outside?’’

"It’s not my cat and I don’t keep it. It’s just a stray that likes it here for some reason."

"I like it here." he blurts out.

"Yeah? It’s not much of a home, though. Not that I would necessarily know a home if I had one..."

"I’m also not sure what a home is supposed to feel like. But it’s okay here. It feels safe."

"You are in the Black Widow’s nest, Yasha’’ she tries to joke to cover the avalanche of emotions that assails her then ‘’you shouldn’t feel safe."

"I always felt safe with you, Natashka. Before."

 They can hardly look at each other’s eyes after that. Their plates have long been emptied, and an awkward silence installs itself between them, growing more palpable by the minute. Natasha tries to regain control, _I won’t think about that now_ ,  appeals to all crisis management techniques that she knows to deal with this onslaught of feelings conflicting within her. She tries to decide on something neutral to suggest or something funny to say that could relax the atmosphere, but nothing comes to mind and suddenly Yasha stands up and thanks her for the meal, eyes avoiding her, and he’s gone before she manages to get a hold of herself.

 

 


	4. The Black Widow Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been asking myself if this chapter was necessary. It certainly doesn't bring a lot to the main story, but at the same time, I felt that I needed it to establish my work as a Black Widow (series) fanfiction. This was also a challenge to me: I wanted to see if I could write a mission in a way that was sensible for Natasha. I wanted to showcase her talent in a fashion that would be revealing of her personality. I hope I succeeded in making it interesting for you guys.

_I created myself to be on my own._

-Idlewild, I Never Wanted

 

Natasha wakes up before dawn, Liho curled up against her hip, its warmth spreading through the quilt and sheets. She hadn’t had the heart to put the cat outside last night, not after the evening she’d had. After Yasha left, she’d tried as hard as she could not to think about him, couldn’t find the strength to face the facts. Sleep had not come easy and she’d numbed herself to slumber with crappy late-night TV shows and numerous shots of russian vodka.

Her flight does not depart for a couple of hours, but she can’t sleep anymore, so she gets out of bed, putting on a black silky bathrobe before tiptoeing to the kitchen. She gets cat food and water into bowls, places them on the floor beside the balcony door and watches as Liho comes running from the bedroom. Natasha gets some water boiling and prepares her own breakfast, a cup of vanilla yogurt topped with summer berries and granola. She takes her time sipping her tea as she hacks into the Vienna police department records to get her hands on the complete report on the Stradivarius case. She’ll read the file on the plane; hopefully it’s boring enough to lull her to sleep.

The hardest thing is to put Liho back outside. Not that it wails, hisses or scratches, no, it doesn’t make a scene at all, just turns its big, yellow-green eyes at her as if to say ‘’I thought we were friends!’’. But Natasha doesn’t know how long she’ll be gone.  

In the cab she calls Isaiah to announce her imminent departure. It’s a habit she picked up when they started working together, after he had reminded her that since she was working alone now, she should at least report to him every so often. This way he could track her whereabouts, should anything happen to her.

"I’m thinking about adopting a cat" she confides before hanging up.

"You should. Good luck, Natasha."

 

***

 

The von Wiernes family possessed various properties throughout Europe, including a villa in the French Riviera, a loft in Milano and a cottage on the Austrian coast of Bodensee, but their main residence was a neo-gothic manor located in the district of Döbling, an expensive residential area bordering onthe Vienna woods.

Natasha arrives in the early evening driving a grey Volkswagen she’s rented at the airport and stops at the heavily embellished wrought iron gates to signal her presence over the intercom. She easily spots the security cameras that monitor the in and out traffic and gives a small wave. The gates slowly open and she drives into an inner courtyard with a fountain and a small, neatly kept french garden in the middle. She’s about to park right there on the cobblestones when a valet comes running out of the manor and offers to take her car to the garage. The man gallantly offers her his arm so she can step outside the vehicle. 

A second man, a butler, she guesses, welcomes her into the manor and leads her to a small drawing room, where Mr. von Wiernes is waiting for her, a glass of amber liquid in hand. The room is minimally furnished, but with taste and elegance. A single painting adorns the side wall, depicting a summer scene with woman and child.

"Miss Romanov" greets the gentleman in English "I am honored!"

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. von Wiernes" she replies, shaking his extended hand.

"I cannot thank you enough for accepting to help us."

"Please, save your gratefulness for when I deserve it."

"Nevertheless, I am thankful. I am very distressed by the heist. My daughter's Stradivarius, you see, is a prized family possession, passed down from generation to generation since it was purchased by one of my ancestor in the late 19th century."

"I understand that your daughter is a very talented violinist. Were many of your ancestors musicians?"

"Yes, many of them were, although only a few played the violin. My father, for example, was a very skilled pianist."

Such small talk upon meeting clients of this sort is unavoidable. Natasha is normally a lot more direct in her investigations, but the police report she'd hacked earlier had proven useless and she had absolutely no lead on the case. There was a small chance that the gentleman's ramblings would provide one or two clues. She asks to be shown the place where the instrument was kept. Mr. von Wiernes leads her to a medium-sized room draped with heavy curtains and decorated in a rich, opulent style that reminds her of 18th century baroque. A majestic concert piano stands off the center of the room, on the left of which antique instruments are displayed in a glass cabinet.

"We normally keep the Stradivarius with the other antiquities" explains Mr. von Wiernes. We purchased an elaborate, high end security system from Stark Industries to protect them - they have a reputation for being unattackable. Unfortunately the violin wasn't on its shelf when it was stolen."

Natasha already knows this from the police report, but she asks about it as she follows the gentleman into a dimlit hallway.

"Lotte had it in her room, in an old-fashioned safe we bought specifically for that purpose. And she swears she placed it inside before going out with her friends from the Conservatory. But the lock wasn't even broken! We only found out about the robbery the next evening, when my daughter opened the safe for a training session. The thieves were long gone, and no trace of the crime!"

They stop in front of a tall wooden door on which the man softly knocks.

"Lotte? Lotte, ich bin mit der Detektive. Können wir rein?"

"Klar, warte mal, warte nur kurz..." replies a clear feminine voice. The door flings open a few seconds later to reveal the young woman Natasha admired yesterday. She looks even frailer in person, yet her countenance bears nothing of the vagueness that emanated from the pictures.

"Guten Abend, Charlotte. Ich bin Natasha." she says, offering the young girl her hand.

"Freut mich sehr" replies the daughter with a smile.

Charlotte welcomes them inside her room and shows them the hidden safe with its intact seal. Natasha takes a few pictures with her cell phone and asks a few questions. The more intel she gathers the more she understands this is leading her nowhere. This heist has truly been orchestrated and perpetrated by professionals. They hadn't left a single trail! Nevertheless, she assures her clients that she has a notion of where to start and promises to keep them updated on her progress. Charlotte thanks her numerous times and offers to repay her kindness with a piece of music.

"Wenn du meine Geige findest, Natasha, dann spiel' ich 'was fur dich. Du wählst das Lied."

 

***

 

The sun has long set when Natasha reaches Clint's safehouse, a small flat located on top floor of an incredibly bland building in the area of Neubau. Most buildings in the neighbourhood are so similar that Clint's could easily be mistaken for another, which is probably why he chose it in the first place. Equipped with the bare minimum, the apartment nevertheless offers comfortable shelter, a secure line and Internet connection as well as an emergency stash of weapons.

Natasha sorts her groceries on the narrow kitchen counter, keeping the ingredients she needs and shoving the rest in the mini-fridge. She quickly fixes herself a sandwich and a tomato-avocado salad before opening her laptop. She goes over the police report again as she eats, but discovers nothing she hadn't notice before. No fingerprints had been found, the security tapes had yielded no clue, there were no suspects. Natasha knew of only one way to retrieve the instrument in those circumstances and that would require meticulous preparation. It would be hard work, but it would be fun - a true Black Widow trap.

She works the night away. The jet lag makes it impossible for her to sleep anyway, and she needs her fake identity to be top notch if her stunt is to be successful. The Stradivarius had undoubtedly been stolen to be sold: she would pose as an interested buyer to learn the identity of the heistmaster. Carefully, layer after layer, she crafts her persona, a wealthy german music instrument collector from Polish descent going by the name of Marina Wiazemsky.  A classy blonde with a taste for luxury, Marina lives with her husband in a modern loft near Alexanderplatz, Berlin. She has a Facebook page with pretty, ordinary pictures and a respectable circle of friends. Nowadays, for a fake identity to be credible, one must not neglect the virtual sphere. It was the easiest thing for anyone to look someone up on Google, to check their Facebook and other social media accounts.

The sun is almost up when Natasha collapses on the bed, exhausted. The hardest part of her work, the creation of fake bank accounts to trump the seller into believing she had the funds to proceed with the purchase, remained to be done, but it could wait another couple of hours. In the quiet of the morning, a flock of birds is making a ruckus in the nearby trees, their chirping loud and strident, but even their incessant cries cannot keep the russian spy from drowning into a deep, dreamless slumber.  

 

***

 

She keeps busy for the next two days, completely immersed in her case. Between hacking into various stuff and reviving old black market connections, she has no time to think about Steve and Yasha and the threat they pose to the fragile equilibrium of the carefully constructed walls she has elevated around herself. By the end of the second day, she has procured everything she needs and sent the word around in all the right places that Marina Wiazemsky is looking to purchase the stolen Stradivarius. The web is woven, the bait is set: now the Black Widow must only hide and wait patiently until her clumsy victim flies right into her trap.

Left with only little to do, Natasha spends the next three days waiting for a call from Dmitri, a russian mobster with a convenient position on the black market who owes her for saving his ass once upon a time. It’s an old story involving a drug smuggling organization and a warehouse fire, and she dislikes thinking about it.

In the mornings she goes for a jog around Volksgarten and takes in the sight of its two fountains, monuments and beautiful rose garden. In the afternoon she walks around in the the city like a tourist, but even as she indulges in common sightseeing she cannot escape the thoughts that haunt her. Her two little handsome ghosts are everywhere with her and in turn she yearns after them, runs away from them, wonders how the hell she managed to get stuck between two such men.

After she lost Yasha, Natasha had dedicated a lot of time to unlearn love, to convince herself that to love meant to suffer; to make the object of one’s love suffer.  She thought she’d done a pretty good job of cooling her heart.

Until Steve.

When, in the aftermath of the Battle of New York, Nick Fury announced her that she would be partnered with Captain America, she thought nothing of it except that it would probably be like training a rookie and she hated that. She didn’t expect the easy camaraderie, hadn’t known of his sense of humour and wit. In spite of their radically different approach and occasional clash of values, she came to like and respect him. The events that culminated in the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. put their relationship on a whole new level of intensity and she discovered then that trust had made its way into their hearts, a bond far stronger than she’d ever expected. She would die for this man, she realised in the midst of the fight, would gladly give her life for what he believed was right. Because when the whole world fell apart and the lies intertwined and the betrayals became unbearable, Steve Rogers stood tall in the face of chaos and submitted it to its will. She could never betray such a man.

This discovery on its own would have been enough to disorient her and make her retreat into herself to try to save her skin. But it hadn’t come alone: the Winter Soldier’s reappearance had struck her like a blow to the head, sending her reeling back to times forgotten, imprisoned between past and present. Her long lost lover, mind wiped and anger filled, shooting her for the second time in five years without knowing her. And to top it off, the discovery that he had been Steve’s friend. It had been too much too fast for Natasha, not to mention Fury faking his own death and her dumping all of S.H.I.E.L.D’s files, including her own, on the Internet. That was why she had needed to disappear, to reinvent herself.

She had flown out somewhere exotic then. Had sipped cocktails on the beach, bathed endlessly in the warm turquoise water and tried to forget everything. It had lasted a few weeks. She would go crazy, she reckoned, if she should remain idle an hour more with the two stubborn little ghosts in her head that just wouldn’t disappear. So she flew back to New York with a plan to go freelance, a ledger to wipe clean and a moral compass, inspired from Captain America. Then she met Isaiah: together they had designed a system and just like that, slowly but surely, she had created a new life for herself. And everything was going well (except that she was always broke) until she’d made the stupid mistake of calling Steve back in Argentina. And her life was a mess again.         

 

***

 

On the third day Dmitri calls at last: the seller has taken her bait. He tells her as much details as he can on his contact and announces her that he has agreed, on her behalf, to a preliminary meeting with one of the seller’s representative. Natasha is ecstatic when she hangs up: everything is playing out just as planned. From the intel Dmitri passed her on, she discovers that the heist had been orchestrated by a group of French criminals led by none other than Batroc the Leaper. Glad to finally know who she is up against, Natasha calls the von Wiernes over a secure line to let them know that she has a solid lead and is confident she can retrieve their violin before long. Next she calls Isaiah and gives him a similar report, only a little more detailed.  

"The preliminary meeting is in Lausanne, in some fancy mundane bar. Do you think I should drive there or take a train?"

"How long of a ride would that be, if you took the car?"

"Some 10 hours, I believe."

"Then for the love of God, Natasha, don’t do that to yourself. Plus, the train ticket will probably be cheaper than the cost of the gas."

"And since I'm broke, blablabla..." she teased.

"Well you are broke, so until I can cash the cheque, I will not refrain from saying it."

"You're such a great motivator, Isaiah."

"I'll add it to my resume. After all if we don't get paid soon, I might need to look for another job." he deadpanned.

Natasha laughed. "Oh, don't worry. You'll get the paycheck soon enough."

"I'm sure."

 

***

 

In the train to Lausanne, Natasha makes a reservation for a small hotel room near the Gare Centrale. She checks in a little past 3:00 p.m., which should leave her enough time to get prepared. Meticulously she dons her disguise, slipping into the skin of her character. She does her make up first, artfully manipulating the concealer and highlighter to sculpt herself a new face. She dresses in front of the mirror, a black A-line cocktail dress, ample enough to conceal the two small pistols hanging from her garter. The neckline is low and revealing, the perfect tool to distract a fool. She completes her look with a wavy blonde wig and there, she's no longer Natasha Romanov, but Marina Wiazemsky, wealthy Berlin girl with an architect husband and a taste for luxury.

The Black Widow walks into the bar, unrecognizable and deadly, carrying a heavy-looking black case. Batroc's henchman spots her character from where he's sitting at the bar and gets up to greet her. It's a tall, good-looking man with pale brown hair and matching brown eyes; he wears an elegant, hand-tailored suit, polished black shoes and a silver watch.

"Madame Wiazemsky, bonsoir. Ich bin Arthur." The Frenchman's German sounds tentative and heavily accented. She decides to take pity on him.

"C'est un plaisir."

"Ah, vous parlez français! À la bonne heure, je déteste l'allemand!"

From then on it's easy to manipulate the conversation. Arthur orders them glasses of red wine and starts talking about the cepage and other wine qualities she couldn't care less about. The man, it turns out, just likes to hear the sound of his own voice. She fakes rapt attention, plump lips half-open. It's child's play, when the glasses arrive, to place herself just so that her breasts nearly spill out of her dress and drop a small quantity of poison in his glass while he's staring at her cleavage.

When he takes the first sip, she starts counting. She has ten minutes, fifteen tops, before he starts to feel the first symptoms. At the 7th minute she drives the subject onto the Stradivarius. Arthur, in elegant terms, asks to see a proof of her commitment to the transaction. Natasha looks him in the eye, gives him her best seductive smile and slowly, slowly leans forward, drags her hand on his torso, pats the chest pocket of his suit and there it is. Quickly she pulls out his neatly folded handkerchief and crushes the miniature bug pinned on the reverse side. Then she returns her gaze to his face, glaring. The poor dude hasn't recovered from his surprise yet - a rookie, it would seem. Batroc thought Marina Wiazemsky was inoffensive; he would be shocked when she barged into his hideout later tonight.

"Take me to your boss."

Arthur has the nerve to chuckle.

"And just how will you convince me to do that, ma chère? You might be smart, but you're just a woman."

He should not have said that. Rookie mistake. "That's right" she replies with a deadly smile "I'm just a woman. And while you were staring at my boobs earlier, I poisoned your drink. Now how about you take me to your boss and in return I promise to give you this." She  opens the black case to reveal a small vial that she swiftly takes in hand, dangling it before his face. "The antidote" she whispers.

"No, that can't be. You're bluffing!"

"Am I?"

A few seconds later Arthur begins to look sick. She drags him out of the bar and into a dark, narrow alley. The young man looks pale and terrified now and she threatens him, drives him to spill the beans. He resists at first, longer than she's seen stronger men do, but gives up shortly after he starts vomiting his guts out. She ties his arms and orders him to show her his car. He takes her to a championship white BMW. She reaches into his pocket to find the keys and forces him to sit in the passengers seat. Then, she ties his feet tightly and gives him the antidote. She punches the address Arthur gave her on her GPS and takes the wheel.

On the way to Batroc's hideout, Arthur loses consciousness. Even with the antidote, the poor guy will suffer a lot and it will take him a couple of days, and perhaps a trip to the hospital to recover completely, but he will not die. In fact, he wouldn't have died from the poison either - it was designed only to scare - but he didn't need to know that.

Batroc is staying in a small cottage in the outskirts of Lausanne. She drives into the parking, Arthur's car not dragging unwanted attention right away. The shadows in the window reveal at least 5 men, corroborating Arthur's account. Natasha doesn't wait to get inside and shoots at a first goon through the window. It shatters, covering the noise of her steps and of the front door opening. She fires again, non-lethal shots that hit the right shoulder and knee of a second henchman, his gun dropping to the floor. The other three men are running in her direction, firing shots of their own that she manages to dodge by executing a series of rapid acrobatic jumps and flips, landing on the shoulders of a third goon, that she forces to the floor with a twist of her thighs. She loses one of her pistols in the process, but she still has the other and there are only two men left standing. The last henchman is more experienced and undoubtedly a skilled fighter and he slows her down a little, kicking her second pistol out of her hands. It's a hand to hand face down now. The man goes for a series of rapid jabs; she dodges easily, back flips to give herself some space and notices from the corner of her eye that one of the henchmen she has previously shot is reaching for her fallen pistol. She reacts quickly, jumps back close to the fourth goon, ducking when the man on the floor fires. Her opponent, too distracted with their fight, never sees the bullet coming. It enters his chest and he collapses. Natasha turns her attention back to the man on the floor, grabs a nearby vase and throws it on his head.

Only Batroc left now. The French criminal has been watching the scene with interest and enthusiastically assumes a fighting stance when she faces him.

"Je suis impressionné" admits Batroc. "Je n'ai pas souvent l'occasion de me mesurer à d'aussi bons adversaires. Croyez-vous vraiment pouvoir remporter ce combat, mademoiselle?"

"On va voir."

She waits for him to make the first move. She knows him, but he doesn't know who she is and that gives her the advantage. Batroc is all kicks and leaps, quick to attack and quicker to dodge, but he's easy to defeat because he lets himself become distracted with his own skill. He forgets his purpose, fights for the sake of fighting, to enjoy the feeling of the movements he executes. Natasha contents herself with getting out of his way until he reaches that phase, and then swiftly takes him out with a powerful kick to the head.

She takes a moment to breathe before running to the master bedroom, where she finds the violin in the exact place Arthur told her it was kept. Going back to the car, she drags the man's limp body out of it and leaves him tied onto the cobblestones. She drives back to the Gare Centrale and hops into the first train leaving for Vienna. It's still too soon to say mission accomplished, but she's pretty damn proud of herself.

 

***

 

Charlotte plays for her as promised when she brings the Stradivarius back to the von Wiernes' manor. They stand in the opulent music room, with Mr and Mrs von Wiernes who can't seem to thank her enough. Natasha accepts their gratefulness with grace and humility.

"What would you like to hear?" asks Charlotte.

The spy ponders this for a minute. Dozens of title and names of russian composers come to mind, but she doesn't want to hear something painful, not now.

"Well... I know it is supposed to be a piano piece, but do you think you could play me Schubert's _Frühlingsglaube_?"

Charlotte grins. "In that case," she says "we can even do a duet. What do you think, Mama?"

The mother smiles and sits at the grand piano while Charlotte takes the violin out of its case and gives a few test strokes. Natasha closes her eyes and listens, singing the words within her heart as she lets the beauty of the music invade her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romance starts in the next chapter. Stay tuned!


	5. Pillow Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This one gets the love triangle going. 
> 
> Warning: Please note that this chapter contains mildly graphic depiction of sex .

_I want to reconcile the violence in your heart_

_I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask_

_I want to exorcise the demons from your past_

_I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart_

-Muse, Undisclosed Desires

 

He lies on Natalia's couch, mind mostly blank. For so long he didn't have a thought of his own, didn't even have a name, and he's not used to think anymore, even less so to wonder about himself. He's been nothing else than an empty shell, powerful but mindless, a ghost inside his own body. And now he has to reappropriate himself this body, to reconcile his mind with it and maybe, just maybe, he can be someone again. In the 10 months the Winter Soldier has been running free from Hydra, he has struggled with the concept of his identity. His memories are scarce and scattered, some of them might even have been forged, for all he knows. Truth seems something unattainable, an illusion that forever would elude him.

Immediately after rescuing Captain America from drowning in the Potomac, he had embarked on a long and somewhat vain journey to learn about himself. The visit at the Smithsonian had thrown him in a state of shock so severe that he had to hole himself up in an old abandoned KGB safehouse (that he had no idea he remembered) for several weeks. He had looked up this name, James Buchanan Barnes, that was supposedly his, on the Internet and history books, had gone after people who he thought might have answers, high-ranked Hydra operatives, scientists, ex-KGB officers. He dug every channel he could exploit, collected intel on himself like he was his own target. It was deceiving how little he managed to find out. He was a myth, a ghost story.

Steve Rogers, this childhood friend he could hardly remember, had promptly started to look for him and they had been playing a game of cat and mouse for several months when he had finally chanced upon Natalia and miraculously recalled her name, recalled that he had trained her. And  then she'd said "Yasha" and in the most wonderful confusion he recalled the vague feeling that she was his.  

He wanted more. He had been looking for a name he’d be comfortable with, not quite capable yet to reconcile himself with the name of the celebrated World War II hero James Buchanan Barnes, nor with the nickname, Bucky, that Rogers uses to address him with. ‘’Yasha’’ had felt good, closer to what he had become. It was less scary to be Yasha than to be Bucky, and he liked that it meant that he was dear to her, for Yasha is a diminutive, an endearment term of sorts that indicates familiarity. He found that he wanted to be this beautiful woman's Yasha. Most of all, he felt that for now, maybe, it would suffice.

He ended up following her back to New York, tailing her to her apartment in Little Ukraine, spying on her. He watched her work and cook and eat, watched as she sat on the balcony to pet a small black cat, and the more he watched her the more he remembered.

She's been gone a whole week now and together with Liho, he waits for her to return.

 

***

 

Natasha asks the cab driver to stop two blocks away from her apartment and walks the rest, a lonesome figure in the dead of night. Liho is not on her porch. She wonders if it has finally gone away and found a family - she’s been gone one week, after all, and the poor cat must eat. When she cracks open the front door, it hits her right away: the smell in her apartment is different. She sighs. Yasha is there again.

She finds him laying on her couch with the cat sleeping atop his chest.  

"You know" she says, "I wasn’t joking about this place not being a stray shelter."

"I know" he replies as he sits, putting the cat down "that’s why I am squatting."

She chuckles. "With your squatter cat?"

He gives an apologetic half-smile. "I like your cat."

"It’s not mine."

He stands and reaches for his leather coat, rummaging through the pockets, pulls out a paper cone, and offers it to her. Natasha feels her throat constrict with emotion when she opens it and sees it filled with roasted honeyed almonds.

"I remembered that you liked those. I’m sorry I couldn’t find roasted chestnuts, I looked everywhere but..."

She rolls her eyes, rather fondly. "You couldn’t have found a single chestnut in the whole of New York city this time of year even if you sold your soul for it. Thank you." She looks down at the paper cone in her hands and her eyes, for a moment, brim with tears. "Thank you" she whispers again.

Yasha used to buy her these little gifts from street vendors, papers cones filled with delicious buttered pecans, pistachios, honeyed almonds.Roasted chestnuts were her favorites. He snuck into her room at night and they ate the treats together, holding hands, whispering promises of always they knew they could not keep.

Yasha sits back on the couch; immediately the cat jumps back on his knees and curls into his lap.

"I see you made a friend" she says with a smile as she sits next to him. Yasha isn't sure if she's addressing him or Liho, but he replies anyway.

"Is it weird, that your cat makes me feel better?"

"I’ve seen weirder. And it’s not my cat."

"But it waits for you."

"It’s stubborn."

"You know, Natashka," he starts after a long pause, "I’m glad that you… after..."

Natasha hears his unspoken words, understands that he has looked her up, read her files.

"Were you...happy, after? Are you, now?"

"Well" she answers carefully "there have been good days...and bad days... I have learned to make do with what I have."

He nods silently, staring at the floor.

"Listen,’’ she starts ‘’I know you’re afraid, and maybe you’re not ready, but it’s one of those things you can never truly feel ready for. You’ve just gotta jump, alright? You have to go to Steve."

When he doesn’t reply, she continues her plea: "I can’t help you, Yasha, not on my own. Just, please let Steve find you. You’ll do better then, and he’ll stop worrying so much."

"He doesn’t know me. I am not Bucky."

"He will accept that. I promise."

Another silence. She lets him mull over her words, flip them around in his brain.

"Tell me about Steve" he finally murmurs. She smiles and reaches for his flesh hand.

"Well. He’s stubborn. It’s infuriating, actually. And he’s an ass. But you know that, do you?"

"Not really, no. I’m not sure if what I remember is true." She knows. The Red Room had implemented their brains with constructed memories, and it was hard to pick the real from the forged.

"Tell you what? Even if you had never known Steve before, meeting him would be the best thing to happen to you. He was one of the best things to ever happen to me."  

 

***

 

The next day Natasha goes to the pet store and buys a litter box for the cat. It would be nearly impossible to make it go away now that it had spent so long inside the apartment with Yasha and she doesn’t have the heart to kick them both out. She’s just made it back home when her cell phone blasts the emergency Avengers ringtone. So much for a day off.

"Hey Red!"

"Stark."

"Sorry to interrupt on your Sunday whatever. What do ex-assassin spies do on their days off, anyway?"

"Get to the point."

"Alright, alright. So there’s a little situation in San Francisco. How fast can you make it to the tower?"

"Twenty-five minutes, max."

"Sorry, can’t wait that long. Give me your location, we’ll pick you up."

Natasha names an intersection a few blocks west and says she’ll wait in front of the coffee shop.  Tony actually lands the Quinjet in Tompkins Square Park and that’s got to be ten kinds of illegal, but hey, the bad guys won’t wait. The others are all there when she steps inside, except for Thor who’s in Asgard. Tony turns on the autopilot and comes back in the main cabin to announce that the Stark Enterprises Marin County Facility is under attack. He plays a live stream on the monitors showing a cohort of Doombots wreaking havoc at the main building. Two Ironman drones are defending the location, but they seem to be losing the fight.

"The question is," says Tony "what do they want? I can’t think of nothing I have there that a supervillain could want to get his evil hands on."

"That’s because you’re not a supervillain" states Barton "I mean, they’re fucked up, man."

"Very insightful, Legolas. Did you learn that before of after the Loki thing?"

"Tony" interjects Steve before the conversation gets out of hand, "let’s not waste our time on useless bickering."

"Cap’s right." she says "What do we know about Victor von Doom?"

 

***

 

A lot of damage has been done to the Stark Industries facility when they get to San Francisco. The Doombots are not easy opponents, with their jet packs and super strength and electroshocks, but they manage to wrap the battle pretty quick. Too quick. A few repulsor blasts, a few Hulk smashes and a couple of explosive arrows take down most of the cohort, while she and Steve rescue the employees trapped in the facility. They take down two Doombots together, Cap decapitating one with his shield and she frying the other’s power system with her Widow’s bites. They come across a third that’s badly damaged and Steve calls for Ironman to come down so they can attempt to capture it. They’ve not yet put the cufflinks on it when it self-destroys in a powerful blast Steve shields her from as they jump out of the way.   

The Doombot’s self-destruction, together with the feeling that the battle was won too fast and too easily, upsets and worries the whole team, but Stark most of all. He's lost in thought the whole flight home and Natasha discovers with strange amusement that a silent Tony is actually a terrifying thing.

Back at the tower, everyone is eager to hit the showers and wash away the sweat and grime, except for Stark who wants to hold the post-mission debriefing immediately. However, vehement complaining from the rest if the team (and an irresistible pleading look from Natasha) prompt Captain America to set the debriefing half an hour later.

They meet in an office with a large round table that always remind Natasha of King Arthur and the knights of the roundtable. Steve sits majestically at one end, blonde and good and wise as Arthur is depicted to be. Around the table the rest of them sit, loyal and fearless, entirely devoted to their leader's cause, trusting of his fair judgement. Natasha silently laughs to herself as she strings her silly metaphor further.

Tony has arranged for coffee to be served along with various snacks. This is their warrior's feast, she thinks, and really she can't concentrate on whatever Bruce is saying, occupied with imagining him in a knight's armour. Soon, however, she's forced to leave her entertaining thoughts behind as the discussion takes a serious turn.

Steve starts with a quick summary of the attack and asks everyone to share what they noticed. Clint says very little, but his observations are spot-on as usual. Bruce only remembers the fight through a sort of confusing dizziness and he’s not much help. Tony has more questions than he has answers. The attack was a diversion, that much is clear, but what for?  They’re missing the essential piece of the puzzle and it is driving him crazy. Soon enough he shuts himself up in his lab to hack into Doctor Doom’s databases, swearing to uncover the supervillain’s motives.

As soon as the meeting is closed, Natasha flees the room as stealthily and silently as she can without drawing suspicion. She really wishes to avoid dealing with Steve on personal matters but that’s probably a lost cause. She makes it as far as the elevator before he catches up to her and corners her inside.

"Hey Nat, may I have a word with you?"

"Sure, but make it quick. I’ve got a cat to feed."

Steve looks at her quizzically.

"Is that slang for something? Because I’m pretty sure you don’t have a cat."

She rolls her eyes.      

"Forget it."  

They walk out on his floor and she follows him inside his living quarters. Steve momentarily disappears in the kitchen to pour himself a glass a water. He offers her one - she declines - and downs it all before returning to her, nervous but resolved.

"Look Natasha, back in Washington I told you that I trusted you. That is still true. You are my teammate, we have each other’s back, and that is important to me. But… I can’t help to feel like there’s something you’re not telling me."

She wants to scream that she can’t tell him, that some truths are not hers to unveil, that he should be more patient. She's hurt that his trust should fail, that he doubts her. But she also knows that she doesn’t deserve unwavering trust, stuck as she is between promises, silences and omissions, between past and present. She doesn’t want to betray his confidence, but she can’t betray Yasha, either. So she does what she does best: she sharpens her knife and stabs.  

"Well, maybe that means you don’t trust me as much as you pretend."

His eyes blacken and she knows she hit the right spot.  

"And you'd be better off" she drives on, accusing "because this is what I am, isn't it? A lie, a traitor, a honeytrap. I was born for deception. You claim that you trust me, but that's a delusion. Wishful thinking, is what it is..."

He tries to interrupt her, orders her to stop, louder and louder but she won't, she’s losing control and she's yelling now, hurtful, acerated words that pierce through him like bullets. Her face his contorted into an ugly angry mask and she _shakes_.

"You ask for the truth like it's your fucking right to know, and you sound so fucking righteous demanding it, but the truth is, you're _selfish_ and I can't-"

He can't stand it anymore. He’s never seen her so raw, so real and vulnerable, never heard her berating herself like that before, and this hurts him more than any of her anger-filled accusations. His frustration with her vanishes completely, yielding to compassion.  

"Stop it!" he shouts, and it's so loud, so authoritative she freezes into place.

"For God's sake, Nat", he says softly, pulling her into his arms. "Don't say that nasty stuff about yourself. You're not a liar or a traitor. You weren't born for deception - God, do you really think that?"

Natasha, stunned with the strength of so many conflicting emotions, doesn’t even fight Steve’s embrace.  

He holds her tighter, feels her bury her face into his chest, gripping his shirt. He thinks he can hear a sob, faint and controlled.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I asked about things that aren't my business." Steve whispers into her hair and though it is soothing, she cannot quite get rid of the shaking, holding onto him like her life depends on it. And maybe it does. Natasha needs this man to trust her, otherwise it all becomes senseless; her atonement project, the Avengers, fighting at his side. Captain America had claimed that he trusted the Black Widow with his life - redeeming words if any - his most amazing gift to her. She could be forgiven. She could be good.

Natasha lifts her face to meet his eyes. They hold each other's gaze, and another 70 years may as well  be going by for all Steve notices, frozen in the moment. Then he closes the distance from his lips to her, hoping that this kind of talking convinces her better than any speech he could give. There is urgency in the way that they kiss, in the way she pulls him closer still. He cups her face between two hands, kisses her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her lips, overwhelmed with the feeling that she's his, finally, even maybe just for this single moment. He half-expects her to run away, to back pedal in panic, to slip through his fingers like water again.

But she doesn't. She swings her arms around his neck and kisses hungrily, thrusts her tongue into his mouth, effectively short-circuiting his brain. He's not thinking when he slides his hands over her body, pushes her hips closer, cupping her ass. They're in his room before he realises, rolling onto the bed, her long red strands splayed all over his pillows. Her supple breasts spill out of her bra as he takes it off, perfect milky skin and pale pink nipples, and he kisses them almost with reverence. Steve grows hungrier with every taste of her, conflicted between wanting to savour her, slow and patient, and to devour her raw.

She kisses his neck, nibbles at his ear and he shivers, goosebumped all over. He wants her so bad it aches. She must feel the same for she’s rolling her hips into his, eyes darkened with arousal. Briefly he wonders if he'll even survive the night, but decides even if he doesn't, it'll have been worth it. Especially when he laps at her folds with her perfect legs hanging over his shoulders, finally tasting all of her, and watches her writhe with pleasure. She's his, even if just for tonight, and the thought drunkens him with love.

Natasha thinks his lovemaking that first time damn near borders on worship. It's sensual and powerful, releasing. She gets lost into the sensations, letting go of every mask and barrier she's ever shielded herself with. She wants to be his, wants him all for herself - after all, she probably worships him, too.

 

***

 

They lie side by side a long time afterwards, holding hands. _I won't think about that now_ , she resolves in an effort to keep all thoughts of Yasha at bay. It is not the moment to think of how similarly loved and safe she'd felt in another man's arms, _in his best friend's arms_. Yet there are things she must say now.

"Steve, listen, some truths are not mine to tell, and there's a lot that I’d rather keep to myself, at least until I can face it. My past is my own."

"I understand, Natasha."

"But you were right about something. Barnes did recognize me. We...met before, in the Red Room. He trained me. I didn't know who he was, then. I didn't know he was your friend."

"I...I'm sorry. It must have been hard for you to face him like that. I didn't realise...And I've asked you twice to..."

"You didn't know. It's okay, Steve."

"It's just all so fucked up. Natasha, I'm sorry that Bucky is a bad memory for you. The man I knew had a heart of gold and he would never have willingly hurt you. He'd probably have tried to take you to bed, actually!" he smiles fondly. "Bucky was quite the lady's man."

"Hey, how about you talk less of other men taking me to bed and more of what you want to do to me, soldier?"

Round two has nothing to do with the gentleness of their first time. She taunts him, drives him wild, sucks his dick in such a dirty way he thinks he might have a stroke and when she kneels on the bed with her perfect ass in the air, he can barely restrain himself. He pounds into her hard and erratic, hands gripping - and probably bruising - her curvy hips. She meets every single one of his thrusts, strong and powerful, moaning his name. The sight of her crying with pleasure sends him over the edge and he comes into her breathless, kissing her shoulder as he collapses onto her.

They fall asleep curled around each other, peaceful at last.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is hands down my favourite so far. I can't wait to post it! But first, I must finish writing chapter 9. I had this story all planned out, but somehow it got out of hand a little around chapter 7. It was like the story was writing itself. And now I have to change a lot of stuff in the later chapters and it's taking me longer than I expected to put all the pieces together.


	6. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is something vaudevillesque about this chapter that I really enjoy. I hope you guys like it too!   
> Thanks a lot for reading :)

 

_I know you've suffered_

_But I don't want you to hide_

_It's cold and loveless_

_I won't let you be denied_

-Muse, Undisclosed Desires

 

Natasha has never woken up to find a man beside her. Yasha could never stay the whole night, and they spent all of those awake anyway, wanting to savour every single moment together. While she did fuck Clint at some point in the past, theirs was an unconventional relationship that never involved love or any  feelings other than trust, understanding and attraction; they had never slept in the same bed. And contrary to popular belief, the Black Widow never actually slept with her victims. She lead them on, lured them in, excited them enough to distract them and struck, deadly, before she even had to remove any piece of underwear.

Steve sleeps still, breathing slow and even. Sunrays have crept their way through the curtains, tracing lines of light across the bedroom floor. Natasha shifts closer to the man beside her, nudges her nose against his neck, inhaling his masculine scent. A pleasant warmth emanates from his body and she revels in all these new feelings, selfishly indulges in them before the spell breaks. It's bound to: this is too good, too easy to be true. Everything will probably go downhill as soon as she gets off the bed, as soon as she starts to _think._

So she stays under the sheets, kisses Steve's back until he wakes up and turns them around to hold her against his chest, kissing her neck, hair and shoulders. His boner rubs against her ass and she presses herself against it, rolling her hips. He gets the message, penetrates her gently, effortlessly. They make love lazily, barely moving as they lay on their sides, basking in each other's nearness.

 

***

 

When she finally leaves the tower, Natasha roams the city like a ghost. She doesn't want to go home, doesn't want to think, to face any of the feelings that submerge her. What the hell has she been thinking, sleeping with Steve? While his freaking best friend is squatting her couch! Whichever way she looks at it, she has betrayed someone: betrayed Steve, by letting him love her like she could be his, like her heart were his and his alone; betrayed Yasha, by letting another man love her and loving him back; and finally she'd betrayed herself, her heart torn between two men who deserve a lot better than her inconsistency.  

After a long, unhelpful walk around Central Park, Natasha decides to visit Clint. Her old habit of falling back on him when she's lost is hard to get rid of. She feels slightly guilty for this, because God knows Barton has enough problems to deal with on his own.

Kate Bishop, Clint's shadow nowadays, opens the door and welcomes her into the apartment.

"Hey Tasha" greets Clint from the couch. "What's up? Did Stark find anything on Doom?''

''Not yet. At least not that I've heard.''

He shrugs. '' I guess we'll hear about it soon enough. Want to watch Dog Cops with us?"

Kate points at him with her thumb in mockery. "This idiot is still only at season 2."

"What?" teases Natasha "so he doesn't know about what happens in season 4 when Detective Woof discovers..."

"Gaaaaaaah!"" yells Clint while covering his ears, "Spoilers, spoilers!"

Kate and Natasha burst out laughing at his predictable reaction.

"Want a beer?" offers Kate.

"Please."

They watch three more episodes of Dog Cops, squeezed together on the sofa with Lucky, Clint's one-eyed dog, curled on the floor at his master's feet. Natasha notices how preoccupied her friend looks. There is something tense in the way he sits, broad shoulders slightly inward, and she wonders what can possibly worry him this much. Kate, on the other hand, looks like she's genuinely enjoying the TV show. There's a certain tension between them, though it seems latent still as they both try to ignore it.

Kate promptly leaves after the third episode, citing laundry and other stuff to do. Lucky jumps into her empty spot on the sofa, lies down between them with its head on Natasha's lap.

"I got a cat" she says, absent-mindedly petting Lucky's back.

"I thought you didn't like animals."

"It's not that I don't like them. Just that I can't keep them."

"So why did you get a cat?"

"I didn't. It's more like it got me."

"Mmmphm, impressive. It must be one hell of a stubborn cat, to wear you out."

"It was patient, to say the least."

"I wonder... you know this theory, that by looking at a dog you can tell what its owner is like? I wonder if it also works for cat owners."

"You'll just have to wait until you meet Liho."

"You called your cat 'bad luck'?"

"So? You called your dog Lucky."

Natasha stays until late. He knows better than to ask why she's here and she doesn't talk about it. They join the building residents on the rooftop for barbecue; Clint introduces her as a colleague and she is immediately welcomed without question in their small social circle. Mingling with these kind, trusting people makes her feel good and she teases Clint all evening for being called Hawkguy by the self-appointed grillmaster.

 

***

 

Yasha is eating a sandwich when she comes back to Little Ukraine.

"How was San Francisco?" he asks.

"The usual." she shrugs.

Liho, upon hearing her voice, runs into the kitchen, weaves around her ankles in a welcoming gesture and jumps on the table next to Yasha.

"Hey, don't let the cat on the table" she scolds, picking it up. "How long are you and Liho planning to squat my apartment and steal all my food, anyway?"

"Until you kick us out" he replies, matter-of-factly.

"I see."

 

***

 

She's woken up in the dead of night by awful anguished screams and a loud clatter. Beside her, Liho has been similarly startled and it gallops into the living room, adding anxious meowls to the cacophony. Yasha is wailing on the couch, drenched in cold sweat and yelling in russian, screaming her name. It doesn't take her long to guess what he's dreaming about. The torture that was inflicted upon them when their affair was discovered is often the source of her worse nightmares too. They had been forced to watch their loved one be broken before them, bound and powerless, and told it was all their fault. They had to learn that this was what their love lead to: endless suffering.

Wary of his metal arm and nervous reflexes, Natasha approaches him gently, whispering a litany of reassuring words. "It's okay, Yasha, it's over now, I'm here, I'm fine, it's a nightmare, honey." She grabs his flesh hand at last, squeezes it hard, calls him again, pleads for him to wake up. He jerks awake suddenly, panting like he's been running a marathon.

"Natalia!"

She smiles at him reassuringly. He hurls her onto his lap, cups her face with both hands. His eyes are wide and alarmed, searching hers for confirmation that she's real.

"Natashka! he says and kisses her, my dear, pretty Natashenka, I'm sorry." His voice breaks, and he's crying when he kisses her again. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry...you were so young..."

"Shhh...it's okay, Yasha. All in the past now, and there's nothing we can do about it. It's not your fault."

It takes lot of soothing for his crying to subside, and by the time he calms down enough for her to drag him to her bedroom, the whole front of her t-shirt is drenched in tears. It's the least she can do to hold him through the night; she has had the same dream often enough herself. Liho settles at their feet on the bed, worriedly watching over them.

 

***

 

Sam Wilson meets Steve Rogers in a coffee shop in front of Tompkins Square Park on a chilly, foggy morning. It's earlier than he'd like, but what wouldn't he do for Cap?

"Sorry I called you so early" apologizes his partner.

"It’s alright. Hey, you seem to be in a damn good mood."

"Yeah" replies Steve, feeling his heart soar as he recalls his night with Natasha. "I've got a localization on Bucky. I know from reliable sources that he's been seen entering this apartment in Little Ukraine last night." Steve hands him a document with a picture, a map and other useful information.

"It seems pretty ordinary to me." comments Sam. "Who lives there?"

"The apartment is rented under the name of Isaiah Ross. I looked him up, and apparently this guy is a lawyer. Graduated from Harvard with honours, worked a couple years for the CIA, he now owns a cabinet. This apartment is probably well below his means. It doesn't add up."

"Curious. Maybe the guy has a mistress and rents the apartment only to meet her there or something? I've seen that in movies."

"Ross isn't married. If he has a girl, why hide her?"

"I admit that a lawyer renting an apartment here is suspicious. But there could be a number of logic, completely understandable reasons why he would want to. The real question is, why did Bucky go there, what does he want with Ross?"  
"I have no idea. And that's why we are going to get into this place and corner him before he can get away."

As usual, Sam guards the outside perimeter while Steve barges in. The super soldier makes short work of the locked front door and irrupts into the apartment, shield in hand. It's quiet and there's no one in sight. He glances around, assessing the place. It looks extremely generic, like no ones really lives there. On the couch,  there is a pillow and a pile of crumpled sheets. Did Bucky sleep there last night? Is he already gone?

Steve stalks further into the apartment and into the bedroom. Suddenly a gun fires and a knife is thrown at him,  which he only manages to avoid because of his enhanced reflexes. The bullet clanks against his shield, falling to the ground. When he carefully peeks at his attacker, he sees Natasha and Bucky, sitting in bed together, glaring at him with their weapons held menacingly. And then he feels a sharp pain at his ankle and looks down to see a black cat biting him ferociously.

Now, Steve Rogers has lived through a great number of weird things, among which spending a lifetime as an ice cube and waking up 70 years in the future, but he thinks this moment right now might just be the worst; he's never been so confused in his whole life.

"What in the actual fuck? Natasha!!!" he yells, furious.

The pair of ex-assassins have lowered their weapons by now. Bucky's face is as inexpressive as ever, like he's not even surprised. Natasha is pinching the bridge of her nose, sighing like he's just given her a monstrous headache.

"This is gonna sound so cliché, but...This is not what you think, Rogers."

"Oh no, you don't get to tell me what to think now, Romanov, I can't... I can't believe that the only true thing you told me the other day was that you had a cat. And I didn't even believe you!"

"Yeah, because you think you know me so well."

"I guess that makes you the master of deception you claimed to be, then."

"You want to have that talk Rogers, well you will, but first let me get out of bed and we can discuss this over breakfast like adults."

Steve's jaw clenches in anger, but of course they couldn't keep arguing in the bedroom like that, so he reluctantly retreats to the kitchen, sits in a chair, mind completely numb.

"Cap, what's going on?" comes Sam's voice into the comm.

"I don't know.... he sighs, sounding desperate. "This is Natasha's place."

"What? Is Bucky there?"

"Yeah. In her bed." Steve replies, voice resentful.

Sam nearly trips himself in surprise.

"What the heck? Cap, what do you want me to do?"

"Come join me here? Please?"

Bucky comes into the kitchen first, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that Steve recognizes as his.

"Who's he?" asks Bucky, gesturing to Sam.

"That's Sam Wilson. My partner."

He nods and starts rummaging through the cupboards.

"Natashka doesn't have coffee. Is tea okay for you guys?"

Taken aback by the triviality of the question, Steve can barely find the words to answer.

"Thank you, but I'm okay."

"Me too pal, thanks."

Natasha emerges from the bathroom then, face washed and properly dressed, her hair tied into a ponytail.

"Morning Sam" she says, nonplussed, and joins Bucky behind the kitchen counter. It feels so weird to Steve to watch them perform this morning routine. They move around each other with ease and Bucky seems to know where to find everything, like this is own place. It feels like he's watching an intimate scene between husband and wife, only the guy is his long lost, brainwashed best friend and the girl, the woman he had sex with yesterday.

Bucky pours tea for them both and toasts a bagel while she prepares two cups with vanilla yogurt, berries and granola. He spreads cream cheese on the bagel halves while she takes their cups and tea mugs to the table. He follows with the plates and they sit down, practically in sync.

"Are you guys sure you don't want anything?" she asks.

"I...uhm..." begins Sam, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, "I think I'm going to leave you three to sort this out" he says, standing up awkwardly.

"Oh no, Wilson" comes Natasha's icy voice. "You're not going anywhere."

A long silence ensues, in which can only be heard Bucky's chewing and Natasha's little spoon hitting the bottom of her cup. When it becomes apparent that she won't be starting the conversation anytime soon, Steve takes the matter into his own hands.

"How long?"

"Ten days, of which I spent six working on a case in Austria."

"And in the whole of ten days, it never even crossed your mind to tell me."

"Yes, it did. But he didn't want me to." she says, vaguely gesturing to Bucky. "What was I supposed to do, Steve? Tell you anyway?"

"Of course! Natasha, can't you understand? He's all I have left. You know we can help him, back at the tower..."

"I know. But I have also been through what he's going through, and I know just how hard it is to come back from that - and why should I be more loyal to you than to him anyway?"

"It's not a question of loyalty..."

"Yes it is! I know exactly what this is, Rogers. Mostly you're mad that you've just found me in bed with another man."

"Yes, of course I am, who wouldn't, I mean, we had sex yesterday, Natasha! Yesterday."  
  


Bucky and Sam share a surprised expression.

"Oh, I get it" says Bucky to Steve "I didn't know she was your girl."

"I'm not his. I am the Black Widow and I belong to no one."

"You were mine" declares Buky with confidence, eyes fixed on hers.

She laughs horribly then and the ugliness of it sends shivers of terror up Steve's spine. "Yeah, and where did that lead us?"

Natasha's phone rings then and she answers it, tone completely (scaringly) different.

"Isaiah! I've never been happier to hear your voice. Please tell me you've got an urgent job for me." Pause. "Of course. Give me 30 minutes." She looks at the three of them with a discouraged face. "Actually, make that 45."

"Who's Isaiah?" ask both Steve and Bucky in unison.

"He's my lawyer. And my manager, for my freelance project. Also my favourite person in the world today. Now, I've gotta go so I'll make this quick. First," she starts, turning to Steve, "Yasha and I did not have sex last night so you can quit the whole hurt male ego act right now, Rogers. Second, the reason Yasha was sleeping in my bed is because I had to comfort him from nightmares about the Red Room. If you wish to learn about our relationship from those days, you will ask your friend Bucky here because I won't ever tell a soul about that."

She turns to Bucky then, voice a lot softer, and asks him to go with Steve now. He refuses at first, but she explains it's the only way, says maybe the nightmares won't go away, but they'll happen less, and murmurs dozens of promises until Bucky agrees.

Natasha runs out of the apartment ten minutes later after feeding the cat and packing a suitcase with gear, leaving 3 bewildered and slightly terrified men at her kitchen table.

 

 


	7. Hanging on Thin Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, the idea for this fanfic stems from random thoughts about how Liho would react if Natasha had visitors. Yeah, so... I kinda wrote this whole thing around the scene where Liho bites Steve's ankles in the last chapter...

_She can kill with a smile_

_She can wound with her eyes_

_She can ruin your faith with her casual lies_

_And she only reveals what she wants you to see_

_She hides like a child_

_But she's always a woman to me_

-Billy Joel, She's always a woman

 

Steve can’t even begin to process what’s happening and Natasha’s gone, just as suddenly as a thunderstorm subsides. He sits there dumbfounded, with Bucky across from him, quiet and dark as he finishes his tea. For months Steve has chased his friend around the world, trying to convince him to come home, and now that Bucky has at last agreed to it, it doesn’t feel much like a victory.

"So" says Sam, breaking the awkward silence, "better get going soon, yeah?"

Bucky nods, resigned.

They wait for him as he gathers his stuff and gets properly dressed. Steve can’t help but notice how reluctant and scared his friend looks. It is obvious that he’s only coming along because Natasha told him to. After witnessing how relaxed Bucky seemed to be around her, it hurts Steve more than he'd like to admit to see him act so skittish.

The cab Sam has called finally pulls in front of the apartment building. As they exit, an anguished meowl resonates loudly  through the empty living room. Bucky stops and turns back to look at the cat, who holds his gaze with piercing golden eyes. He tells it something in russian, a few low, maybe gentle words, and closes the door behind him.

 

***

 

The next two days are a horrible test of Steve’s nerves. Placed in a reinforced room equipped with a twin bed, a couch and small bathroom in the Avengers Tower, Bucky locks himself in a mute silence he only breaks every four hours or so to ask about Natasha. He refuses to see the specialists Tony hired to look into his programming and amnesia, refuses to talk to anyone including Steve, doesn’t eat and doesn’t sleep. The only thing he agrees to is to let Tony examine his metal arm; he doesn’t seem to mind the other man’s endless babbling, but he does not answer any of his questions.

At first, Steve had wanted to stay with Bucky and accompany him through the tests and procedures, but it quickly became apparent that his presence was unwanted and the head psychologist, Dr. Johnson, had to take him aside to explain with great diplomacy that it would be best if he left his friend alone.  

Now, sulking in his room with nothing to distract him from his thoughts, he nurtured an uncontrollable resentment toward Natasha, her despicable secrets and slippery nature. Even if he could understand - and maybe even accept, given time - that she had not told him about Bucky to respect his friend’s wish, he resented that she’d kept so much hidden from him. Their harmonious, precise movements as they prepared breakfast, the fact that they ate the same thing and sat similarly revealed a depth in their relationship that he had not been prepared to witness. Natasha had only said that the Winter Soldier had trained her and he had assumed that it was all. But Bucky had called her his and of course she’d been his, how could he not have suspected it? It just made perfect sense that even as a scary soviet assassin Bucky got all the dames: he always did and always would. Hints of jealousy sparked within his heart at this thought. Steve had not been sure what his relationship with Natasha had become after their night together, but he had trusted it was going somewhere. Now it looked like he would have to step aside yet again and watch her run back to Bucky's arms.   

Downstairs in his recovery room his friend was waiting for her to come back, blatantly ignoring everything that did not pertain to her, and Steve hated that it made him feel so left out. He resented that she had it so easy, that Bucky trusted her without question, called for her. The fact that she seemed to let him in so close hurt perhaps the worst; Natasha might have denied belonging to anyone, but the boldness of Bucky’s voice as he asserted that she was his left no doubt in Steve’s mind. What cruel twist of fate was he the victim of, to retrieve his long-lost best friend only to lose him to the woman he loved?  

 

***

 

Natasha comes back from her mission limping badly and with a cast on her left hand. The job had been risky from the start - in other circumstances she wasn’t sure she would have accepted - but when Isaiah had called the other morning, she wanted nothing more than an excuse to run away. She had been hired to rescue a female journalist who had been taken hostage by a group of religious extremists some 75 kilometers from Mardin, in Southeastern Turkey. Although only a small faction was stationed there, the number of armed men was high and her mark had no experience in fighting or with weapons. She had considered asking Clint for back-up, but in the end she preferred not to: this was her atonement, and Clint had no part in that.

The fact was, however, that Natasha was distracted. Thoughts of Steve and Yasha and of the whole messed-up situation she had run away from got in the way of her concentration and she’d made a couple of mistakes, hence her injuries. But she’d completed the mission at least, the journalist had been returned to her family and Isaiah had happily cashed the cheque, however modest.

At the tower, she finds Stark tinkering away in his lab, loud 80's rock blasting from his sound system.

"What's up, Stark? Anything new on Doctor Doom?"

"Dammit Natasha, announce yourself next time." he jumps in surprise.

"I wasn’t exactly subtle."

"J.A.R.V.I.S., you traitor. She could have killed me."

"Miss Romanov assured me that she would do no such thing, Sir." replies the omnipresent A.I.

"I gave my word" adds Natasha.

Tony gives a fake sigh, evidently amused. "You'd think J.A.R.V.I.S. would know better than to trust an assassin's word of honour."

"Well, now that I'm here, you better spurt out the facts, or I might have to kill you" she threatens playfully.

"What'd you want to know? I got nothing on Doom yet. Nothing interesting anyway. I still have J.A.R.V.I.S. translating some stuff, but I doubt it's going to be helpful."

"You were able to crack his databases, though?"

"Sure, but they've been wiped. I can't retrieve the data."

A few moments pass in silence before Stark speaks again.

"You know Red, I’m really glad you’re here. Actually, everyone will be glad you’re here. Except for Steve maybe, he seems to be mad at you. What for? Did you get him a membership card for senior citizen discounts again?"

Natasha chuckles. "I can’t register him twice."

"Well you can register his pal, now."

"Yeah, I'm not sure they accept ex-soviet assassins in that program. How has Barnes been doing?"

"Holding himself in mute silence, except for asking where you were every few hours, and refusing all and any medical examination or treatment. He hasn’t slept nor eaten, but! He let me look at his metal arm, so all in all, not that bad."

"Is Steve with him ?"

"Nope. Not allowed. Doc’s orders. How do you know Barnes, anyway?"

"Part of the reason Steve is pissed at me is that I wouldn’t tell him, so don’t get your hopes up."

"It was worth a try."

 

***

 

Yasha smiles at her when he sees her enter the room, but it falters immediately when he notices her cast and the limp in her step. Taking quick strides to meet her, he lifts her into his arms despite her protest and sits her on the couch.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Broke my wrist. Just slightly. I will be fine soon, don’t worry about it."

"And your leg?"

"Got stabbed."

Natasha watches his knuckles turn pale as he clenches his fists, eyes dark with calm rage, and for a moment he’s the Winter Soldier again. He looks threatening then and she fears he might fall back on his programming, forget the progress he's made, forget her, and turn back to that detached, empty killer who shot her with such cold-blooded disinterest in Odessa. She reaches for his hand, hoping that the physical contact might help him snap out of it.

"I don't like that you're hurt." he says, shoulders slightly less stiff. "I want to kill the guy who made you suffer."

"You don't have to. He's already dead."

"Good." his posture relaxes completely, like she's lifted a heavy burden off of him.

Natasha is shocked with surprise at the strength of his reaction. Yasha had always shown concern toward her when they were alone, but to say he had been protective of her was an exaggeration.

"I was told that you didn't eat."

"I wasn't hungry."

"You didn't let the doctors examine you either."

"I don't trust them."

"I do. Tony Stark picked the best specialists and had them controlled for security. You should give them a chance."

"Mmmm. I don't like it here, Natashka. I want to go back to your place."

"Okay. You may" she says after a short pause. "But only if you let the doctors do their jobs."

"I don't know. They look scary."

With this admission, Yasha looks down at his feet bashfully, his long eyelashes creating a small shadow on his cheek. He looks very different from the Winter Soldier in this pose, and it occurs to Natasha then, that she is older than he is now. She had been 17? 18? when they met, and he, she guessed, in his mid-twenties. Now she was thirty and he hadn't aged. Of course, the serum she'd been given in the Red Room - the one that had been engineered from Yasha's blood - kept her strong and young too. But she couldn't help feeling old as the realisation hit her, of how much time had passed.

"Hey" she whispers "if they hurt you, I'll kick their asses so hard they'll spend the rest of their life in a wheelchair. It's gonna be okay, I promise."

"I...Okay."

"Good. Now, I don't know about you, but I could eat a horse. Want some food?"

"Are you going to eat with me?"

"Of course."

"Then yeah."

 

***

 

Steve is sitting on a stool next to the counter when she enters the kitchen and she mentally curses fate for such bad luck. She doesn't want to be confronted about Barnes and hopes he will not start an argument. She gives him a polite nod and goes straight to the fridge. She's just finished making two enormous sandwiches and placing them on a serving tray with two cups and a teapot when he addresses her.

"Is that for Bucky?"

"Yep."

"He refuses to eat."

"So I've been told."

"But he'll eat with you, won't he?" he sighs, his question sounding more like a statement.

She doesn't answer. There are lemons in a small basket on the counter and she decides to take one for the tea.  Only sugar is missing now. She looks in the cupboards, rummaging through their contents.  

"Here" says Steve.

She turns back to see him standing behind her, holding the sugar pot.

"Thanks."

They're face to face now, closer than she'd like. For a moment he looks like he's about to say something and she braces herself for his words. In the end he just stands there, looking at his feet, before finally turning away.

 

***

 

After a week of being prodded and examined by all kinds of doctors and specialists, the man who couldn't yet think of himself as Bucky Barnes feels a little less confused, a lot healthier and constantly frustrated. His memories are slow to return and most of those who do aren't the pleasant kind. He goes through fitful nights, alternating between horrible bloody dreams and bouts of slumber.

He cannot remember Steve, not properly. He knows, objectively, who he is, but this knowledge feels too superficial to carry any kind of truth. His oldest memory is that of a fall and it is a feeling so visceral and powerful, it cannot be questioned that he has, indeed, experienced it. The killings he remembers also elicitate such a physical response from him. But everything surrounding Steve is different; he feels detached from it and yet he yearns after it.

The only good memories to come back to him are of Natasha. He remembers holding her hand on a rooftop, wishing her goodnight in a dark hallway, trying to count the freckles on her back, the tantalizing paleness of her skin; he remembers kissing her and tasting her, shaking with pleasure deep into her. With these memories return his long forgotten libido and an irrepressible, boisterous desire for her.

One afternoon he can’t help himself, kisses her mouth instead when she goes for his cheek, pulling her to him as he whispers into her hair how much he wants her. He's hard as a brick, bursting with excitement. His hands fumble over her waist, squeeze her breasts through the soft fabric of her blouse. He's so excited he could rip her clothes off right there, but she stops him gently, slightly flush.

"Hold it, Yasha. There are cameras everywhere."

She visits less often afterwards and she's more guarded when she does, more distant. When she does come, he's careful to keep his feelings in check, not wanting to drive her away. They talk of neutral subjects like her missions, Tony and Bruce, the doctors. She never talks about Steve.

His recovery isn't easy. Days go by and Bucky goes through hell again; his painful, scattered memories throw him into violent fits; his nightmares are filled with monstrous visions, the very faces of his worst fears. He hangs on, however, with all of his strength; made a promise once, maybe and he intends to keep it. He must make it back to the other side, where they're waiting for him. Steve. Natalia.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 will be up this weekend. Stay tuned!


	8. To Natasha!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you for the positive feedback! I had no idea when I first started this project that it would take me so long but I'm extremely happy with the way it turned out, which is rare for me - mostly I end up thinking that my ideas sounded better in my head than on paper. But now I'm super motivated to finish this - only 4 more chapters to write and 3 others to review!

_Recuerdo que juntos pasamos muy duros momentos_

_Y tu no cambiaste por fuertes que fueran los vientos_

_Es tu corazón una casa de puertas abiertas?_

_Tu eres realmente el mas cierto en horas inciertas_

-Roberto Carlos, Amigo

 

"With amnesia, there is no sure way to measure progress or to estimate how long the individual might need to regain his memories. Every person is unique and no one recovers quite the same way." explains Dr. Johnson, one of the psychologist hired by Tony to work on Bucky's case. "However your friend has been improving rapidly. Even though he's having a hard time now, there is no reason to believe that he will never recover his memories from before his fall."

Steve nods. "It's just that, he seems to remember everything else...."

"I understand this must be frustrating for you, Mr. Rogers. For my part, I believe that there might be some kind of psychological barrier preventing those memories from being seized by Mr. Barnes's consciousness. Whether this barrier was put there by his previous handlers or constructed naturally, I couldn't say. The human brain works in fascinating and surprising ways. Instances where it simply locks information away from a person's consciousness as a means of self-preservation are numerous and well documented."

"In this case I suppose what you need to do is find a way to take down that barrier."

"Exactly. We need to find the trigger that will cause the brain to 'short-circuit' so to speak, and as a result unlock the preserved memories. This is normally experienced by patients as a form of trauma."

"What I don't understand is... Bucky's memories before his fall shouldn't be painful ones. They should be happy memories. Why would his brain treat it like a traumatizing experience?"

"It doesn't have to be the memories themselves; whatever happened to your friend when he did remember his past while used by the Russians probably is distressing enough to cause a lockdown."

Steve sighs, pressing his forehead to his open palm. "It...really kills me to think of all the pain and despair Bucky is going through... " _If only I had caught him, if only I'd sent him back home._

Suddenly he stands to leave, extending a hand for the psychologist to shake.

"Thank you Dr. Johnson, for taking the time to share your results. It means a lot to me."

"My pleasure." The doctor hesitates a few seconds "Mr. Rogers, may I talk to you of something else?"

"Of course." Steve sits back down, politely waiting for Dr. Johnson to begin.

"It's about Miss Romanov. I noticed that you seemed bothered by her proximity to Mr. Barnes. I'm sorry I know this is probably a painful subject" adds Mr. Johnson quickly when Captain America visibly winces. "However I thought it you'd benefit from seeing things through a different perspective."

Dr. Johnson pauses a few seconds, waiting for Steve's reaction. When the other man gives none, he resumes.

"You may feel betrayed by your friend's ease around Miss Romanov when it is so apparent that your presence is painful to him. This is all well understandable; the depth of your friendship with Mr. Barnes seemed to warrant a better reaction on his part. You probably feel that it should be you, instead of her, comforting him and standing by his side through these difficult moments."

"It was Bucky who said it, that we'd be together 'till the end of the line. It... was a sort of implied promise, that we'd never let each other down. I've already failed him once... I can't let that happen again."

"I understand. But still you are here now, are you not, fretting over your friend's well-being? You come and ask for news of him everyday. Even if he doesn't know of them, aren't your actions showing that you are there for him, supporting him as you can?"

"I wish I could do more."

"There will come a time when you can. For the moment, I want you to see things from Mr. Barnes' point of view. So far he has not remembered anything prior to his fall in the Alps. All of his memories consist of violence, missions, murders, torture. The only good things, the only positive emotions he remembers, are all linked to Miss Romanov. She was his only piece of happiness in a grim world of senseless, constant pain."

There's a short pause, heavy with meaning, as Steve lets the doctor's words sink in. "I...I hadn't thought of it this way...I guess it is hardly surprising then that he holds on to her like he does."

"Love is a powerful thing, Mr. Rogers. It is also extremely significant that Miss Romanov loved your friend while he was the Winter Soldier. This has him thinking, whether on a conscious level or not, 'she loved me at my worst, there's a chance that I will be liked at my best'. This is Miss Romanov's greatest gift to Mr. Barnes. Had he never met her,  I don't think there would be any hope to bring him back."

Steve leaves Dr. Johnson's office with his heart in his mouth. His resentment for Natasha has entirely vanished, replaced with a gratefulness just as vast and endless as his love. He loves her so much, his strong, tiny Natasha who has no idea just how amazing, how exceptional she truly is. How could such a woman think of herself as a monster, he couldn't comprehend, for she had loved and her love had saved Bucky, and wasn't it what Jesus was sent to teach them; 'love each other and your love will save you'? He bursts with the desire to hold and cherish her as his hope, his truth, the miracle of his life.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., where's Natasha? Is she in the tower?"

"Miss Romanov is in her room. Shall I announce your arrival?"

"No, thank you."

Steve runs the five flights of stairs to her room; his heart is pounding so loudly when he knocks on her door he thinks she might hear it from inside. She keeps her face neutral when she finds him standing in the hallway but even she can't mask her surprise when he unexpectedly pulls her to him, hugging her so closely and powerfully she can hardly breathe. "Thank you...thank you...." he whispers in her hair, inhaling the floral scent of her shampoo. She has no idea what he's thanking her for, but the only way she might succeed to get out of his super-soldier embrace is to knee him in the balls, and she figures that's not an appropriate way to accept someone's gratefulness.

"Uh, Steve... Do you want to come in?"

"Sorry" he says, finally letting go of her. "Yes, I'd like that."

 

***

 

It's Natasha who suggests asking for the help of a telepath. Steve had just finished explaining Dr. Johnson's barrier theory and it had reminded her of a conversation she'd had with Wolverine a couple of years before. Logan had told her about one time Professor X had resorted to creating a psychological barrier in a student's mind to keep the mutant teenager from remembering a particularly painful moment. Whenever the memory hit the boy, he was unable to control his powers and put the others students in serious hazard. If Professor X could create such barriers, maybe he was able to destroy them too.

Tony, Bruce and the other doctors and scientists are all reluctant to the idea. Mutant powers are not well understood by the scientific community and therefore are regarded with caution, if not outright distrust. In the end, the idea is submitted to Barnes himself, who of course agrees to whatever Natasha wants, despite a reasonable reluctance to let someone into his mind again.  

It turns out to be the solution. Charles Xavier shows great compassion, taking the time to explain the procedure and possible reactions beforehand. Steve watches his friend through a one-way glass as they prepare to proceed. Bucky is holding Natasha's uninjured hand; she pats his hair, looking unusually nervous. Pride surges through Steve as he watches them, the two people he loves most, finding strength in each other. They're so courageous, so beautiful. Steve wishes they can be happy.  

It takes a little more than an hour, although it admittedly feels a lot longer, especially to Professor Xavier, who looks exhausted. "Your friend has been through hell" he tells Steve before leaving. "It's miracle that he is even coherent. Most men would have gone crazy. Most men would have let themselves die."

Later, Natasha tells him that she asked Professor Xavier to lock the worst of Bucky's memories away.

"He told me that he would have done it even if I hadn't asked. That it was plain cruelty not to."

 

***

 

Two days later Bucky knocks on his door. They fall in each other arms, with wide smiles that quickly turn to sobs.

"I've missed you, punk."  says Bucky

He doesn't reply, choking on tears. He feels so old, so tired, but it's like he's made it home at last. Their eyes are red when they finally disentangle themselves and close the door behind them.

"They've let you out?"

"No." Bucky grins. "I taught Natalia, you know."

Steve laughs. "You must be proud."

"Damn right."

The visit is short and a little awkward. They're glad, of course, to be with each other again, but so much has changed now and they quickly run out of things to say. Bucky excuses himself, pretexting that he should get back to his room before anyone notices he's gone.

 

***

 

It's late July when Natasha takes Bucky home at last. Together with Steve, she has cleared her storage room and transformed it into a bedroom for him. They did their best to give it a welcoming feel, but Bucky looks disappointed when she turns on the light to show him around.

"I thought we would sleep together" he says.

"No way" she replies without skipping a beat while Steve shuffles awkwardly beside her "only Liho sleeps with me."

"I want Liho to sleep with me, too. You will, eh, little kitty? he asks the cat in his arms, kissing its head.

Steve goes to get take out while Natasha prepares them drinks to celebrate Bucky's recovery.

"To Yasha!" declares she when they're all installed around the table, glasses held high.

"To friendship" is Steve's chosen toast.

"To the assholes who kept us alive for 70 years so we could meet Natashka!"

"That's a dumb toast." she comments.

"It's not" they reply in unison. "To Natasha!"

They laugh and take a few sips of their drinks. Steve and Bucky entertain her with anecdotes of their youth while they eat and they're hilarious to listen to. The atmosphere is warm and relaxed; she feels like she's basking in their friendship, like they're showering her with it, including her in it, for whatever reason. She doesn't deserve this kind of feeling, has run away from it most of her life. But tonight she can't help herself; she's rarely felt so good, so complete before. It feels like this ordinary, impersonal apartment she lives in has become a home with them inside.

The conversation never seems to run out; she whips up a few more drinks as the evening goes on, the hours flying by faster than she'd like. She feels bubbly and open, can't stop herself from touching them repeatedly. She makes Yasha swear he won't cut his hair short, despite Steve’s protests. They remain talking and laughing long into the night, until Bucky finally falls asleep on the couch with Liho on his chest a little past 3:00 a.m. and Steve announces he will get back to the tower.

"Listen Natasha" he says on her doorstep. "I understand that what you and Bucky went through together brought you very close and it's a bond that I have no intention of altering. I can't tell you how grateful I am that he has you, that he had you then... So... I don't know if I make sense but... I want you to know that whatever happened between you and I, don't let it complicate anything. I just want you and Bucky to be happy."

"Are you... Rogers, are you giving me your blessing to be with Yasha?"

"Yes."

"You're an idiot."  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured in chapter 9:
> 
> \- Unresolved sexual tension  
> \- Natasha wearing a summer dress  
> \- Steve being a gentleman


	9. Compromises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are in luck! Today is a statutory holiday in Canada, so I got to write all morning and chapter 12 has been literally writing itself. I love when that happens (not often enough). I expect more trouble with chapter 13, so you might not get another update before a couple of days.

_He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun,_

_yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking._

-Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

 

The happiest beneficiary of their new living arrangements is undoubtedly Liho. Not only has it two people to take care of it now, it also gained a new bed to sleep on and an afternoon nap partner. What else could a cat wish for?  Soon it has Bucky enslaved to its littlest whims, a fact that Natasha never misses a chance to tease him about.

"If I had known that even a supersoldier can't lift my cat off the couch, I would have called it Mjölnir!" she jokes when Bucky awkwardly tries to fold himself on the sofa as small as he can not to disturb the sleeping Liho.

For Natasha, learning to live with someone else takes some adjustments. She had always been a loner: at a young age she had learned that she couldn't trust anyone and she had shaped herself to be completely self-reliant. In her mind, to need help meant contracting debts and those she avoided like plague. She had chosen her lonely path willingly, mainly to protect herself, to survive.

Living alone for so long, she had developed habits, had gotten used to a way of life that Bucky's presence completely threw off. It brought both good and bad: in the morning she loved that he would infuse tea for the both of them and sit with her chatting randomly through breakfast, but she also missed sitting on the balcony alone to listen to the silence and the chirping of the birds. Silence was most definitely gone from her life. Once Bucky had realised that he had missed on 70 years of movies and television, he started playing it all the time, even when he didn't watch it, "in case it played something important".

He eats a ton of food, takes off his socks everywhere, drinks milk from the carton, spends hours in the bathroom and has no idea how to use a washing machine. Natasha has to terrorize him into a little discipline. To give him credit, he tries very hard to please her, but there are still dozens of things that drive her crazy. Of course, she knows that she, too, has to work on herself. It is obvious that living with someone else leads to compromises. She doesn't want to pick up fights with him: his reaction could be unpredictable - honestly, who would risk facing the wrath of the Winter Soldier over soiled socks in the living room?

The worst thing, however, is his boisterous sexual drive. He makes it clear that he craves sex - having been denied for nearly 15 years - and that he lusts after her. In and of itself it isn't so much of a problem; it is her own secret yearnings and hidden feelings that complicate everything.

If the notion of love had been beaten out of her in the Red Room, even the cruelest tortures she’d endured hadn’t succeeded in breaking her love for Yasha. All these years she’d kept his memory buried deep within her heart, grieving for their doomed, short-lived romance. Now that he'd come back to her, she couldn't help but want to be his again and she'd probably have thrown herself at him weeks ago...if it wasn't for Steve. Her heart hesitates between both men, unable to settle, unwilling to pick one. She wants them both, needs them both around her and she respects them too much to dare get in between them. She has no intention of potentially threatening their freshly salvaged friendship. So she does the only thing she can: she resists Yasha. Gently she pushes him away when he tries to touch her, doesn't let him kiss her, keeps her distances.

 

***

 

It's a warm August morning, the only thing she's got planned is a meeting with Isaiah in the afternoon and she feels like she's on vacation. She comes out of her room wearing a navy summer dress with a small floral pattern, walking to the kitchen to start the kettle. Yasha's sitting at the table and his reaction to her choice of attire is immediate. He looks like he's utterly smitten, complimenting her with such expert charm that a woman of lesser resolve would undoubtedly yield to it. He waits until she's busy cutting bread at the counter and lifts up her dress, kneeling behind her to press breathy kisses up her thigh, sparkling goosebumps all over her skin. She goes weak at the knees as he works his way higher and higher until his nose is pressed against the cotton of her panties, inhaling the musky scent of her cunt through the fabric.

He whispers her name in a strangled whisper and suddenly she snaps out of it, turning around to force him to stop.

"You can't do this, Yasha" she says, quickly masking her flush.

"Why? You like it." As he stands up and traps her against the counter between his arms, she realises turning to face him might not have been such a smart move.

His smile is unlike any expression he ever sported as the Winter Soldier and she's reminded of Steve telling her of Bucky's womanizing tendencies. This man must have been a serious heartthrob in the '40s to get her, the Black Widow, this worked up with so little effort.

"Stop it" she growls, shooting him her best cold glare "I told you I didn't want that."

"I don't believe it. Natashka, don't you remember? Don't you want it back?" he whispers, gaze unbearably earnest.

Natasha averts her eyes. "I...I can't." she spurts, sharply pushing past him.

She strides to her room where she packs a duffle bag with training gear and storms out of the apartment without a word, leaving her unfinished breakfast behind.

 

***

 

Natasha is halfway through her training session at the Tower's gym when Steve walks in, nodding at her with a smile before going to hang a punching bag in the opposite corner. She finishes her series of push-ups, squats, bridge taps and triangle crunches, pausing between each exercise before starting on a couple of stretches. In the wall mirror she can see Steve working up a sweat as he punches mercilessly at the bag in a rare display of unrestrained power.

"Got some pent up frustration to vent, Rogers?"

"A little."

"What's got you so worked up?"

Steve pauses, panting, and turns to her to answer.

"Stark may have found something about Doctor Doom's intentions. He says the chances that he's right are very slim at the moment - and that's why he hasn't called any meeting yet - but I can't shake the feeling that something's about to blow up in our faces."

"What did Stark find?"

"He's got no solid evidence...but he found clues of the existence of some sort of powerful magical stone, exactly the kind a supervillain would want to get his hands on. We have no idea if Doom was able to acquire it - we can only speculate that he knows of the gem's existence."

"What can this gem do?"

"Tony's not sure."

"That's no good news."

"No. But hey, at least we won't lose our jobs anytime soon!"

She chuckles. "I don't know how I feel about supervillains ensuring our job security. They're highly unreliable."

Steve's laugh appeases something in her that she didn't even know was there.

"Well, if we're gonna be fighting more doombots anytime soon, I guess we better be ready. Spar with me?"

 

***

 

After training, Steve offers to take her to her meeting with Isaiah. He waits for her near the garage's entrance and she notices his subtle double-take as he watches her approaching in her light summer dress. She looks so much softer wearing it, with her long loose hair cascading over her shoulders, still a little damp and wavy. He wonders if he should tell her she's pretty. He wants to, but isn't sure whether she'll like hearing it. She must have been told ten thousand times that she's beautiful, has been forced to use that very attribute to steal, to deceive, to kill. What's more, he reasoned, she was Bucky's girl. It's never okay to hit on your best friend's girl.   

"You look terrible in that dress" he jokes instead.

"That's definitely not what Yasha thought of it."

Steve lets out a short, uncomfortable laugh as he pictures the many ways in which Bucky could have shown his appreciation. "I think I never saw you wear a dress outside of a mission."

She smiles mischievously "Maybe I am on a mission."

"I don't suppose you'll share the details?"

"It's classified."

"My clearance level isn't very high in your organization" he remarks jokingly as they walk to the car.

"That's because you're not part of my organization."

"Why not? I'd love to work for you."

Natasha laughs at the incongruous thought of being Steve's boss.

"You? No way, you can't take orders. You'd end up usurping my position."

"I wouldn't do that to you" he says with a playful half-smile.

"Yeah, yeah, you can hide that shit-eating grin, Rogers, you totally would. But anyway, you've got nothing to atone for" she says while he holds the door open for her.

"Is this what your organization is about? Atoning?" he asks as he sits into the driver's seat, buckling his belt.

"Yes" she admits after a short pause. "Actually, that's something I wanted to talk to you about. It's also why I"m meeting Isaiah today."

Steve gives a nod, prompting her to continue.

"Yasha...he's been restless. He doesn't know what to do of himself and to be honest it's starting to wear me out, to watch him do nothing all day. He's asked to join on my missions and...I think I will let him. "

"What? So soon? That's not safe. Bucky is still healing, for God's sake. What if something triggers him? What if he hurts himself...Nat, what if he hurts you?"

"He won't."

"Don't...take this wrong, please, I know how good you are - hell, you're amazing - but you've got two scars on your body, that he put there, and I watched him knock you out in Buenos Aires - with a single push. He's dangerous."

"Don't you think I know that? I knew him as the Winter Soldier. He trained me. I know just what he's capable of. But it's killing him, to sit around all day, watching TV and talking to the cat. He needs to do something, he needs to spend energy like the young man that he is."

"Ah, so he is a young man but I am a fossil?"

"At the rate he's fossilizing on my couch, he'll join the club soon."

Steve sighs. He knows that Bucky likely needs action; he'd needed action too when he thawed up. He'd taken the first opportunity to jump back into business, unable to sit around, feeling lost and useless in a world that wasn't his anymore. Protecting New York City and becoming part of the Avengers had been grounding actions; they gave him a sense of purpose, a place to belong. Although admittedly he still felt out of place and questioned his motivations from time to time, he had learned that Captain America was useless without a cause and that even as Steve Rogers, he needed something to fight against to feel alive. Wasn't that the reason he'd ended up beaten in most back alleys of Manhattan?

"I understand. I guess if I were him I'd also be itching for action. I just wish I could be there with the two of you. In case something goes wrong."

"Trouble is, you're too easy to recognize. It's a spy agency I've got going on."

"Bucky's not a spy. He's a soldier."

"He's a stealth master and a sharpshooter. That's useful to me."

"There's nothing I can say that will make you change your mind, is there?"

"Nope."

A short, comfortable pause follows. Steve checks the rear-view mirror before switching lanes. 

"I need a name for my organization. What do you think of: Natasha Romanov's Spy Agency for Ex-Soviet Assassins With Pasts to Atone For?"

"It's horrible."

 

***

 

It's the second time Natasha's ever been in Isaiah's office. At first glance, it's very modest and practical; however closer inspection reveals discrete luxury in the quality and sturdiness the furniture. She is a little nervous. Isaiah knows more about her past than most people do. When she'd embarked him on her atonement project, she'd come clean with him. She needed him to trust her, and more importantly, she needed him to know just what he was signing himself on. She would be forever grateful to how unfazed he'd appeared at her account and to his detached, professional, yet gentle way to deal with her. Still, she dislikes the idea of revealing more.

"You look good, Natasha" he says, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"Thanks. You don't look bad yourself, with the tan and all. How was your vacation in Maine?"

"Good. But I'm glad to be back. Dealing with my sister on a daily basis... it can't be healthy."

Natasha doesn't ask any question. This is the way her relationship with Isaiah works: they never ask about anything personal and if one of them decides to share something of a private nature, the other only barely acknowledges having heard. Swiftly she directs the subject to the reason of her visit. Her lawyer sits impassibly behind his desk as she tells him of Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier, of her relationship with him and her desire to include him in her project.

"I'm not against, Natasha. I'd rather prefer you weren't alone on those missions. Can you guarantee there's no risk of him turning mad?"

"No. There is always a risk. Even I'm at risk. That's why I got a lawyer."

"But he's got no official existence. Legally, Barnes is dead. He cannot be bounded by lawful contracts like you are. You would be held accountable for his actions."

"I know and I'm willing to be. Anyway my clients cannot know of him. Who would want to hire the most feared assassin of the 20th century? Not the kind of client I want."

Isaiah lets out a small, unusual laugh.

"What?"

"It's just that... for a woman who's so vehement about not letting anyone close, who a few months ago complained that a cat kept following her around...it's kind of ironic that the one person you really let in into your life turns out to be the most feared assassin of the 20th century. You truly are an unusual woman, Natasha."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Nat & Bucky's first mission together. Thanks for reading!


	10. First Mission

_If it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads,_

_then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts._

-Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

 

"You could have gotten us a mission somewhere less crowded" complains Bucky with a disdainful glare. "And less rainy."

"We don't have the luxury of choice in this business, honey. It's hard enough to make sure the clients are good people with honest intentions."

They have just arrived in Mumbai for their first mission together. Technically, it is her mission; but no one has to know, apart from Steve and Isaiah, that she's accompanied.

"Hang on" she encourages him "we've almost reached my web."

"You mean your safe house? Hey, does it have two beds?"

"No. It was only meant for me, you know."

"So... I get to sleep with you, then?"

"Why? There's a couch."

In truth, she’s never used her Mumbai safe house before and she’s not certain how it looks like. All the administrative details pertaining to the creation of her web, including the choice and furnishing of her safe houses, had been handled by Isaiah. She trusts her lawyer’s good sense and sober tastes as good as her own when it comes to that sort of thing.

The safe house is located in the neighborhood of Tardeo, a residential area in the southwestern part of the city. It is on the sixth floor of a fairly recent and bland-looking apartment complex. From outside, all the windows and balconies look the same, symmetric and regular. The inside is a maze of stairways and busy corridors. Half the elevators are out of function and the ones that work seem to be perpetually occupied.

"Ross chose well" comments Bucky. "Anyone trying to follow us in here would probably get lost."

"Isn't he the best? Come on, it's over there."

The door opens to a stale-smelling, minimally furnished two-room apartment. There's a bedroom with a bathroom attached and a large living area equipped with a kitchen, a square table, a loveseat with a low coffee table and in a sunlit corner, a narrow, nearly empty bookshelf.

"Hey! there's no television! What the hell are we going to do?"

"We'll be working, you idiot."

"Right. But that only begins tomorrow." He lets himself fall backwards on the bed. "Aaah, I'm tired as hell. Air travel wears me out."

"Then sleep. I need you to be in top shape tomorrow."

"I'm sleeping on the bed, then." She shoots him a pointed look. "What? How do you expect me to get any beauty sleep on that tiny couch."

"Okay, okay. You can sleep in the bed. But no hogging all the covers or I"ll kick you out."    

They fall silent as Natasha starts unpacking their stuff, sitting on the edge of the bed. She sets her laptop on the nightstand, thinking it would be a good idea to try and gather more intel about their target later tonight. When she notices him move, it's already too late; he's got both arms around her waist, pulling her to him and lowering his face to press quick kisses on her shoulder. His hot breath tickles the nape of her neck, eliciting delicious shivers down her spine.

"I've figured out how to pass the time without a TV" he whispers, sliding his left arm inside her shirt to fondle her breasts. She gasps at the coldness of the metal against her skin; it's a contact both foreign and familiar, arousing and dangerous. For a moment she almost yields; a powerful desire to press her mouth to his full, tempting lips shots through her, sudden and insistent. She has to focus on her breathing, somehow managing to keep control and wriggle free of his embrace.

"You could also read a book" she suggests cooly once she's put distance between them.

 

***

 

Their target is expected to come out of his office sometime soon. Bucky is crawling on a high rooftop, watching his partner navigate the crowd. Natasha, barely recognizable in a colorful sari, is planning to take advantage of the busy rush hour to plant a tracking device either on his person or on his belongings. Perfectly still, binoculars in hand, Bucky surveys the entrance of the company's building. Long minutes pass, in which he fights hard against distraction. Somehow this kind of work was easier when he was the Winter Soldier. His mind was so empty then, stripped to the barest essentials, he didn't have anything to think about. It is different now; he's assailed with thoughts of Natasha, trying to figure out why she keeps refusing him and what is the nature of her relationship with Steve.

Suddenly the front doors push open to reveal the face he'd meticulously studied on photographs last night.

"Nat, Singh has just come out. He's headed north."

"Does he have company?"

"Two men. Wait, they've stopped, they're shaking hands. One of the guys is leaving in the opposite direction."

"I see him now. I'll join you when I'm done. Stay where you are."

Bucky grins proudly as he watches Natasha expertly mingle into the crowd, faking to stumble and fall against their target to discreetly place the device on him while he helps her get up. His girl is the best. But is she his girl?

 

***

 

Their target, a forty-four years old Mumbai native named Arjun Singh, is the CEO of a local IT company who's long been suspected of collaborating with the Pathan mafia and of using his political influence in the city’s administration to help drug-smuggling organisations and encourage other forms of corruption. Owner of a considerable fortune, Singh is the kind of man to parade his wealth around in a very nouveau riche fashion. He drives expensive cars, wears designer suits and attends pompous business meetings in fancy hotels. He's fairly easy to track, although he moves around the city a lot. However, he's extremely careful about his relations with criminal organizations. He never meets with the gangsters in person, doesn't leave any trace of his activities in his electronic communications; absolutely none of his actions suggest he may take part in corruption. One week into the case, they haven't been able to produce a single proof of his involvement.

"That's it, I've had enough!" declares Natasha after another long, useless day of tailing Singh from meeting to meeting. "This is leading us nowhere. We've gotta try something different."

Bucky couldn't agree more. It's the rain season in India and he thinks he's spent enough days outside getting drenched in vain for the rest of his life.

"Just gotta corner the messenger" he says, peeling off his soaked t-shirt. "Once we find out who Singh contact is, we're good."

Natasha sighs, wringing out her hair into the kitchen sink. "I suppose. I just wish it didn't need to come to this. I'm sorry, Yasha. I wanted our first mission together to be quick and easy."

"It's okay. I'd rather we fight and get results. Honestly, this country is going to kill me."

In the evening they busy themselves devising a new plan; they're going to target specific members of the Pathan mafia who they suspect are connected with Singh and threaten their way to the information they need. Nothing the both of them have never done before. Natasha prepares a teapot of first flush Darjeeling she's bought at the local market while he scans several gangster profiles, eyes riveted to his computer screen.

"Here" she says, handing him a teacup. As he sips the warm, dark amber liquid, Bucky is reminded that back in the 40's, he'd been a coffee guy. During the war he'd even drunk that horrible instant mix that passed for coffee without complaint. He probably picked up the habit of drinking tea during his time in Russia, he thinks, recalling the samovar in Natasha's room and the bitter taste of the citrusy black tea she used to make.

He looks at her, absorbed with reading more criminals' files, curled on her end of the couch with her cup held between two hands, close to her chest. She blows softly on the hot liquid, creating soft ripples on the surface. She's so different from the young, headstrong girl she was when he first met her and yet she's still the same brave, generous, breathtaking woman he fell in love with then. His feelings for her are unchanged, too, if not stronger than before. Natasha is his anchor, the one and only person he feels truly at ease with, just the way he used to feel with Steve before. Overwhelmed with love and gratefulness, he can't stop himself from reaching for her and taking the cup from her hands to place it back on the coffee table. With gentle, careful movements he turns her around to face him, tucks a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear and boldly leans in to kiss her. He braces himself for rejection, savouring the stolen moment, but when it doesn’t come and he feels her press her lips in return, his heart nearly overflows with joy and satisfaction at finally being allowed to hold her near, to lavish her with love.

His enthusiasm is immediately converted to eagerness. His touch becomes ardent as he deepens the kiss, pulling her completely into his lap to press himself against her core. God, he wants her so bad. But she stops him then, breaking their kiss to ask, flushed and hot all over, if he’d be okay with just kissing for tonight. Of course he’s okay with that, he tells her by resuming their kiss, he’s okay with anything she’s willing to give. He’s a patient man, always has been.     

 

***

 

They terrify some Pathan mafia goons into snitching Singh’s contact in the course of an evening. They infiltrate their lair, silently laying the guards unconscious before they know what hit them. Bucky irrupts into the room, where three high-ranking criminals are playing cards, with a trusty semi-automatic and a number of pocket knives. The men, stricken with fear, clumsily unload their guns empty without hitting him once and coil back in horror at the sight of his metal arm deflecting bullets and of his threatening stance. They start to run for the opposite exit, but Natasha is waiting for them behind the door, effectively trapping them between the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier. Bucky sees in their panicked eyes the instinctive knowledge that it’s an unfortunate place to be. Of course, of the two, Natasha scares them less. They think they have a chance at besting her, fooled by her small stature and their belief that women are weak.

Bucky waits for her to hand them their asses. They wake from unconsciousness, tied up and confused, to the sight of the Winter Soldier sharpening one of his knives. It only takes a demonstration of how he can crush a gun with his bionic hand and a few well-aimed, menacing knife throws to reduce them to begging. One of them even pisses his pants. Bucky doesn’t even need to actually hurt them and they blurt out everything they know about Singh between anguished sobs.

After that, it’s child’s play to manipulate Singh into a trap. Natasha makes sure to collect irrefutable proof for her employer to use against him. She will be glad to watch his downfall from afar, knowing that she and Yasha  played a part in it.

 

***

 

The afternoon following their return from India, Natasha orders Bucky to go get Steve at the Avengers Tower and to stop by the store to buy bottles of wine on his way back. Steve knows that Bucky is coming to get him and he’s been instructed to stall as much as he can. He doesn’t know what this whole thing is about - Natasha wouldn’t tell him - but he plays along, delaying their departure with dozens of unnecessary details. He drags his friend around the Tower, stopping by the lab to chat with Tony, by Bruce’s room to hand him a file, he even helps Pepper pick out her shoes for a fancy corporate event with an important client. Bucky, patient as ever, follows without complaint-  albeit reluctantly - and stares anxiously at his watch every five minutes.

"Come on punk, let's go now. We need to stop by the liquor store. Natalia said to buy wine."

"What's the rush, Buck? It's still early."

"I want to go home. I'm jet lagged. After two weeks of getting soaked to my bones in India the only thing I want to do is nap on the couch with the cat. But Natalia sent me to get you."

"I see. Ok then, we'll go."

 

***

 

They arrive to find the table set for three and Natasha busy in the kitchen.

"What's all this for?" asks Steve, not unpleasantly surprised at the sight of the two salads and of the plate of grilled vegetables laid over a festive tablecloth.

Natasha shrugs. "When I spoke to Isaiah yesterday, he said we should celebrate Yasha's first mission."

"So you cooked for us? Awesome!" exclaims Bucky while petting Liho.

"Yeah, just give me a few minutes so I can grill the steaks. Open one of the bottles and take a seat."

From the corner of her eyes she notices Steve give an involuntary, hesitating gesture. "What is it, Rogers?"

"Um...Nothing. This is nice, Nat. Thank you."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Just tell me you like you like your steak, Steve."

Dinner is animated and funny. They go through the three wine bottles Bucky bought and she's pleasantly buzzed when they finally desert the table in favour of the couch. She settles in between them, unashamedly reveling in their closeness. There's a channel airing funny home videos that has them crying with laughter. Natasha isn't sure if it's from the laughter or the wine or from having the both of them pressed so near, but she's feeling lightheaded, reckless. Yearning for more contact, she slips her arm through Steve's, leaning against him as she reaches for Yasha's hand. She notices the puzzled look Steve directs at her, but decides to ignore it. Tonight she's too tired to question anything. As the program shifts from funny home videos to an old comedy starring Robin Williams, the warmth emanating from their supersoldier bodies sends her jetlagged, tipsy mind in a blurry state between sleep and consciousness, and she teeters on that pleasant edge, not even registering what's playing anymore.

She wakes up in alarm at being suddenly lifted up.

"Sorry" whispers Steve as he feels her relaxing against him. "You and Buck fell asleep."  
"Mmmm" she groans softly, still dizzy from sleep. "So take me to bed, Rogers."

Steve complies, tossing the quilt aside to lay her between the sheets. He's about to leave when her voice resonates weakly.

"Yasha, too."

God, thinks Steve, this woman is going to be the death of him. Does she do it on purpose? She has to know that he likes her - even if he's given her his blessings to be with Bucky, asking such a thing of him is a tad insensitive. Especially after how she'd leaned over him all night. Nevertheless, Steve does as he was asked and scoops up Bucky from the couch just as he had Natasha. His friend does not wake up as he brings him to the bedroom, where he finds she has shed most of her clothes and lies on the mattress in a small t-shirt and grey cotton panties. Swallowing with a little difficulty, Steve gently lowers Bucky down on the bed beside her.

"There. Good night, Nat" he says, turning to leave.

"That's it, Rogers? No goodnight kiss?"

Steve hardly knows if he should laugh or shake her by the shoulders in frustration, but he gathers himself once more and turns back to her with a cocky smile.

"I thought you'd never ask, Romanov."

He comes around her side of the bed, but as he bends to kiss her forehead, she yanks on his arm, hard enough to make him fall forward next to her.

"Take off your pants. You stay, too." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be doing my best to upload chapter 11 as soon as I can! Stay tuned :)


	11. Explanations & Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... I'm officially in the process of writing & reviewing the final chapters of this story, which is a little sad but mostly cool. I can't believe I've written this much!

_She takes care of herself_

_She can wait if she wants_

_She's ahead of her time_

_She never gives out_

_And she never gives in_

_She just changes her mind_

-Billy Joel, She's Always A Woman

  
  


Oscillating between sleep and consciousness, Steve, behind closed eyelids, gradually becomes aware of the quickly dissipating darkness. It’s morning. The smell emanating from the sheets is familiar, though different, but he’s not really curious to know why, wanting to savor the last scraps of sleep he can enjoy before the brightness of the room succeeds in waking him up completely. As fuzzy, sleepful thoughts swim in his brain he suddenly notices the presence of a warm form pressed against his side. Soft, naked legs are wrapped around his left calf and a lithe, feminine hand rests over his sternum. Jolting awake, he glances down at Natasha, asleep and evenly breathing against his shoulder. His gaze travels further to her side, where he discerns Bucky’s form spooning her from behind, his long, disheveled hair covering most of his face.  

The awkwardness of the situation hits him with the sharpness of a bee sting. He shouldn’t be here with them. Natasha hadn't been in her right mind when she'd asked him to stay. He shouldn't have caved in to her demand - to his desire to be near her. Nervously he summons possible scenarios of Bucky’s reaction to finding him, his supposedly best friend, cuddling with his girlfriend in bed; each concludes in a bigger mess than the last. There is only one way out of this: to carefully disentangle himself from Natasha and leave without waking anyone. Gently he starts pulling his leg away, inch by inch, hoping the slow movement will not startle her awake. But of course there's no fooling an ex-assassin of her caliber.

"Mmmm, stop movin' so much. I'm tryin' a sleep" she slurs, half-awake.

Yep, he's fucked.

"Nat..." he whispers. "I should go."

"Five more minutes."

Behind her Bucky stirs, pulled from slumber by their voices, jerking his head up to look at who Natasha's talking to. His face remains devoid of expression for a few seconds as he meets Steve's eyes, but it unexpectedly cracks, a beat later, into a lazy, amused smile.

"Five more minutes, and then breakfast. I’m starving." he says before laying back to nuzzle her neck. Steve, utterly confused at his friend's reaction, remains perfectly still, stricken with dread. His left arm is wrapped around Natasha's waist and he can feel Bucky's stomach pressing against it as he resumes spooning her. Clueless as to what is going on or why they both seem okay with him invading their privacy, Steve decides to stop questioning it: he would simply go with the flow and analyse the data later. Letting go of his apprehension, he relaxes into the mattress, tension vanishing from his stiff muscles. He closes his eyes, breathing in. There is something soothing in their combined scent, a strange, family-like feeling in their unguarded nearness, their easy intimacy. For a moment he marvels at this ephemeral opportunity he’s been granted, to bask in their closeness and suddenly he doesn’t want to get up anymore.

After long minutes - certainly more than five - Natasha finally stirs, sitting upright to stretch her back. Steve shakes his left arm. It had gone numb under her weight, but he hadn’t moved, wanting to hold her as long as possible.

"I'm gonna get Steve some coffee. Can you boys get started with breakfast?"

"Hey, no need to go out for me. I don't dislike tea."

"But you prefer coffee. Plus, I like to take a walk in the morning. It’s refreshing."

She crawls out of bed and Steve does his best to avoid looking at the way her panties barely cover her ass. Bucky isn't so gentlemanly and gently slaps it as he gets up after her, utterly unashamed. Steve would have never dared such a gesture; he’d seen her half-kill Stark for it and thinks he would probably lose a hand if he tried. Of course, Bucky gets away with it; she gives a tiny, startled tilt upward and her eyes involuntarily widen a little - like, he’d observed, all women do when they’re slapped on the butt - but otherwise doesn’t react.     

 

***

 

The walk to the coffee shop helps her cool her head. Early mornings are her favourite part of the day; the streets are a lot less crowded and the air has a fresh, revitalizing quality to it that always mysteriously vanishes before eight o’clock. Setting a brisk pace, she thinks of ways to bottle up her feelings before they overtake and compromised her reasoning. Admittedly, it had been nice to wake up sandwiched between Steve and Yasha, but she mostly feels guilty for the unfair way she is treating them both. These two awesome men love her for some reason and she doesn’t even have the decency to either choose one of them, or reject them both. She resents  herself for yielding to her desires time and again, unable to keep her resolve. Lately she's been nothing but a tease; that needed to stop. She needed to put distance between them, the both of them, otherwise she'd only end up hurting them. The trouble was, they wouldn’t let her. Not easily, that is. They were each as infuriatingly stubborn as the other and wouldn’t be deterred by any half-hearted attempt. She would have to strike hard, to sacrifice. The way she feels now, she would have to cut a piece of herself when she cut them loose, but what did Steve say, when he made that speech at the Triskelion before it went down? The price for freedom is always high.

She pictures herself forcing them at gunpoint upon a wooden bridge spanning across an immense ravine. They call her name from the other side, watch horror-stricken as she sets the bridge on fire. When she turns back, their calls echoed by the wind resonate like metallic gong strikes in her mind.

Can she do it?

 

***         

 

Natasha comes back with a strong cappuccino for Steve, only to find the two super soldiers in her kitchen debating whether she'd prefer pancakes or omelets.

"Don't exert yourselves, boys. A bagel's fine by me."

"That's boring, Natashenka! Steve used to make good omelets. We should take advantage of his skills."

"My omelets are nothing special. You used to make the best pancakes. And it's been 70 years since I ate those."

Natasha says nothing, studying them with an unreadable expression. They have been growing more and more comfortable with each other recently. Bucky, gradually getting over his fear of disappointing Steve for not being exactly the same person he used to be in the 40’s, has been especially friendlier. An idea creeps its way to her brain, that would take care of her proximity problem and probably make Steve happy. Yasha wouldn't like it at first, but it was for the best and he would eventually recognize it.  

'Why don't you make both?" she suggests. "You got me curious."

 

***

 

It's Friday night and Steve is hanging around his Brooklyn apartment, watching a documentary on modern art, when his phone suddenly starts ringing.

"Hello Buck! Aren't you and Nat on a mission?"

"We came back early. Natalia took care of business faster than expected."

"Sounds just like her."

"Yeah...I was wondering if you'd have a beer with me. You know, like old times?"

Steve laughs. "In those days we could still get drunk. I kind of miss that."

"Me too. Still, why the hell not?"

"Sure. Want me to pick you up?"

On his way to meet Bucky, Steve thinks that, oddly enough, he hasn't gotten to spend a lot of time with his best friend without Natasha around. After his recovery, they had had trouble connecting, only succeeding to do so with her in the middle. But lately they had felt a lot more comfortable together and Steve is glad for this opportunity to hang out with him like before.

They pick an uncrowded bar where the music's not too loud for chatting and order half pints of a local beer neither of them knows. Steve manages a few jokes to exorcise his nervousness and soon has the conversation flowing. They talk about the past, at first; Bucky is curious to learn what happened to common friends and acquaintances and Steve wittily recounts what he knows, punctuating his anecdotes with old inside jokes and dry, ironic comments that have them both folded in half with laughter. Then he talks about Peggy, of how she's quickly fading away, sharp intelligence wilted by Alzheimer and the mood swiftly shifts. Bucky reaches across the table to hold his hand and the firm, sincere touch of his best friend fills him with warmth and nostalgia. The old feeling that it's them against the world bubbles to the surface of his heart, immediately repressed by the thought of Natasha.

"You know, Buck..." he starts hesitantly, seeking the right words. "I'm really glad that you have someone else to count on now. I will be forever grateful to Natasha for being there for you when I couldn't."

Bucky nods, not really  knowing what to say.

"To be honest" continues Steve  "it was hard for me to accept at first, that you would want someone else by your side, but...if it has to be anyone else, then I'm really happy it is Natasha. I hope that you know how lucky you are, to be loved by her."

Bucky gives him a puzzled look. "What the hell are you talking about, punk? Natalia doesn't love me. She loves you."

Steve gives a dismissing gesture. "At some point I thought she might have. But she doesn’t."  
"No, no, she does... That’s probably the reason she won't have sex with me. I've been wondering,  she keeps rejecting me even though she clearly wants it. And you said you had sex with her...you remember... when you barged into the apartment and caught us in bed."

"Yeah...I'm lucky she didn't kill me for that."

"She tried! But you had the shield. Anyway, the thing is, I'm positive she's in love with you."

"How the hell can you believe that? You two share something that I can't even pretend to be part of. It's like you know each other inside out, the way you move, the way you understand each other. And the way she let you in into her life - I bet not even Clint knows her so intimately."

"Look Steve - Natalia and I, we've been through similar stuff. We did the same kind of things, we trained and worked together. We have a lot of shared experience and that makes it easy to understand each other. But it doesn't mean she loves me."

A long silence follows, in which they both reflect on what's just been said.

"Well," concludes Steve with a sigh "whoever she loves, we're pretty fucked anyway, right?"

"You said it, pal. I guess it puts us both in the same boat."

"Yeah... but at least we're in it together."

 

***

 

Something happened between them, realises Natasha after the fourth day in a row Bucky walks into the apartment with Steve in tail. Something, in the course of a week, has rendered them inseparable and it is driving her crazy. They're always at the apartment, literally parasitizing her living room and eliciting dozens of contradicting emotions within her, from frustration to envy to downright adoration. Their interactions are a wonder to watch; few human beings know the meaning of a true friend, she perhaps less than most. She'd never before witnessed a friendship of such strength, so complete and implicit. The depth of their complicity only confirms her in her decision to distantiate herself from them: she refuses to let her volatile, inconsistent feelings potentially jeopardize such a precious relationship.

So she waits for the right opportunity, secretly sharpening her knife and bracing her heart. They will never know how much what she's about to do will cost her, but it has to be done, for their sake and hers. She is the Black Widow and she has created herself not to need anyone and not to owe anything. Love is for children, anyway.

 

***

 

It starts with something stupid and trivial, as most fights do. One minute they are conversing quietly and the next they're screaming at each other, tactless and venomous. This is exactly why Natasha hates confrontation; try as you might to bring it about gently, it always blows up in your face.

"I don't know how I've put on with this for so long - this is not the Avengers Tower, for God's sake!"

"You should have said it sooner, Natalia - how was I to know?"

"You know what, Barnes? Why don't you go and live with Steve? I've had enough. I don't want a roommate. I didn't even want a cat."

"Yeah? Well, why didn't you think about that when you agreed to let me live here? Of course it was going to be different."

"I thought I could stand it, but I can’t."

"So that's it, things don't go your way, so you just...change your mind and turn your back, pretend you'll do better on your own?"

"I won't have to pretend. I will."

Their eyes lock, angry and proud, unwilling to bend. They distort their faces with cold, ugly masks of composed dispassion in an effort to block the tremors of their crushing hearts. Burning tears prickle their eyes as they refuse to let them fall, to let the other see how much they hurt.

"Okay. You don't want me around anymore? I'm going. And I'll take Liho with me since you're so adamant you didn't want it."

"Fine, keep the damn cat."

A heavy silence befalls them as they face each other, knowing that the end has come.

"I never knew that you were such a coward, Natalia. Sure, you can not need anyone. But you don't have to live like that and you know it."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

"Glare all you want, I'm going to give it anyway. I sure as hell ain't afraid of you."

Natasha snickers, but the intensity of her gaze does not waver.

"You don't have to be on your own - you don't have to pretend to prefer that - because Steve and I? We're with you, Natashka, "till the end of the line. Whatever you do, whatever you choose."

"Keep your promises to yourselves because _I_ can't afford them. I don't want any of your forever. Forever is a lie."

"That shouldn't bother you, since you live surrounded by them. Maybe you should stop deluding yourself and just admit to Steve that you love him."

Natasha sees red at the mention of her feelings.

"Now that's a bullshit move, Barnes, you're always trying to get into my pants."

"Well you aren't with him, are you? Plus I can't help myself - I haven't had sex in 15 years for Christ’s sake!"

"Want me to set you out on a date?" she suggests icily, "You know, if you're really this Bucky Steve has been rambling on about, you should be able to get any girl you want with a snap of your fingers, even with the metal arm. Just lie about how you got it."

"The thing is, Natalia...You're the girl that I want."

Natasha laughs - a breathy, broken laugh - but she has to,  because she will cry otherwise.

"That just puts me in a formidable position, doesn’t it? I will _not_ put myself between yours and Steve’s friendship. I will not. Now get out. Take your stuff, take the cat and get out."

 

***

 

Natasha sits on the balcony with Liho, listening to the busy sounds of the city buzzing as the rush hour winding down. In the end, Yasha had gone and left the cat. She'd felt incredibly relieved when it became apparent that he wouldn't take it: in truth, she did not want to let it go. It was hard enough to sever herself from them.

Her apartment felt empty and overly silent now, yet everywhere remained signs of Yasha's presence. This morning while sweeping she'd found a single rolled up sock under the couch and had been tempted to sniff it, in case in still carried a whiff of his scent. Then she diagnosed herself crazy and rapidly convinced herself that she needed space, something to change her mind. As usual, her solution was to turn to her profession.

"Good evening, Isaiah."

"Hi, Natasha. What can I do for you?"

"I've not heard from you in a while. Got something for me?"

"Well,I'm not sure. I've got something, but... I have sort of a bad feeling, you know."

"In what sense?"

"Just... plain gut feeling. Experience maybe? I don't know."

"Did it pass our usual check-ups?"

"Yes, all of them. And the paycheck's more than interesting. It's just this feeling I can't shake."  
"Curious. I didn’t take you for the superstitious kind."

"I’m serious."

"So am I. I'll take it. Send me the details."

"I'd rather not, Natasha. Please let me run a couple of other verifications first."

"It's fine, Isaiah. I'll make the call by myself once I'm there."

"Barnes will be with you, right?"

"No. Just me this time."

"Then I must insist, I don't think it's safe."

"And I'm telling you I'll be fine. Must I remind you that, technically, I'm your boss? I want those files ASAP."

Isaiah sighs loudly. "Please keep me updated."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More drama on the horizon! Thank you for reading :)


	12. Crushed Restraints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since this story is set after CA:TWS, Age of Ultron has not happened yet and will not happen (for obvious reasons, namely Brutasha) (by the way one of the things I dislike most about Brutasha is that Mark Ruffalo is almost 50 and that Scarlett is like 3 years older than me - anyway). This left me free to use the plotline with Loki's scepter/the mind stone and Baron von Strucker as I wished, which is what I did. 
> 
> Warning: some violence, but nothing you've never seen on TV before. It's pretty mild.

_Love is our resistance_

_They’ll keep us apart and they won’t stop breaking us down_

_Hold me_

_Our lips must always be sealed_

-Muse, Resistance

 

She drives through the sinuous country routes nearing the Appalachian mountains, absentmindedly humming to the music on the radio. The green, hilly landscape is breathtaking and the more she looks around, she feels that she would like to visit this place for something else than a mission. According to the intel provided by her client, a secret lab sponsored by a global pharmaceutical company lies hidden in a sheltered facility built deep into the flanks of the Berkshire Plateau. Her mission is to get into the facility undetected and to destroy all samples of a dangerous formula currently in development. She is also to wipe the databases clean, as well as any other evidence of the existence of the formula. Get in, destroy the intel, get out; she's done this sort of thing oftener than she can recall. As long as she's not spotted, this mission should go just fine - Isaiah is probably worried over nothing.  

Natasha parks her car near the entrance of a public state park and goes the rest of the way by foot. From outside, the facility doesn't appear particularly guarded, but she knows by experience that this doesn't mean anything. The security control looks strict though, and she figures the best way to get in is probably to steal an employee card. She decides to hide in the cedars bordering the parking lot, waiting for an unfortunate employee to come her way.

She realises something is wrong as soon as she spots a man come out of the building. She knows those yellow suits, they're classic A.I.M. gear, and she's fought enough of these bozos to recognize the uniform at first glance. If A.I.M. is involved, then the situation is a lot worse than expected. Speedily Natasha attacks the employee, pressing hard against his pulse point until he faints, and borrows both his yellow suit and his magnetic card.

She's watched. As soon as she sets foot in the facility, she knows. Isaiah was right; this is a trap. Subtly she looks back to the entrance, but it's already locking behind her, heavy iron doors blocking her way out. No time to lose now - the element of surprise isn't on her side - she must find another way out, quick, before she's trapped. Most of A.I.M.'s staff consists of scientists with no combat training; these are real easy to fight and she lays down a good twenty before they start sending R.A.I.D. fighting units after her. She runs. The blueprints she was sent indicated an second entrance in the left aisle. If she can only reach it, she'll make it.

When she turns the corner of the corridor after throwing a salve of widow's bites at her assailants to gain time, she runs straight into a wall. A low, sinister laughter resonates through the room.

"You didn't think we would give you correct blueprints, did you?"

She's trapped. Around thirty R.A.I.D. units have her circled, awaiting orders.

"Sedative, now" she hears.

The shots come so fast, she barely manages to press the emergency button on her belt to alert Isaiah before fainting.

 

***

 

Steve offers Bucky a plate with fresh vegetables and a sandwich, trying to convince him to eat. His friend has barely ingested anything since he showed up at his doorstep two days ago, announcing that he would be staying with him for a while. Bucky hadn't been overly generous with details when he recounted what had happened with Natasha, but Steve understood enough - it had been bad. Bad enough that Bucky barely spoke, didn't sleep and had to be forced to eat.

"C'mon, Buck. Nat's stubborn, but she'll get around. No need to starve yourself."

Suddenly Bucky's cell phone starts ringing. He jerks in surprise, a glint of hope in his eyes.

"See" says Steve with a smile. "It's probably her right now."

A glance at the cal display reveals a blocked number.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Barnes?" asks a masculine voice.

"Yes?"

"This is Isaiah Ross, Natasha Romanov's lawyer."

"I've heard of you."

"I just received an emergency signal from Natasha. Do you think you could give me a hand?"

"An emergency signal. Natalia's in trouble? Where is she?" Panic crosses Bucky's eyes, communicating the same emotion to Steve, who's standing alert, fear written all over his traits.

"In Massachusetts, somewhere in the Berkshire Plateau. I can send you the coordinates."

"Send them. I'm with Steve Rogers, Captain America - we're both going after her immediately" Bucky says sternly, standing up.

"Great. I'll send you everything I got."

A short silence follows the end of the phone call.

"Suit up. We're going now."

They are on their way to the Avengers Tower to get the jet when Steve's phone buzzes inside his coat pocket.

"Buck, get the phone" he asks. He's driving and he's nervous enough already. There's no way he's going to risk getting into an accident now.

"It's Stark."

"Answer it."

"Hello?"  
"Capsicle? That didn't sound like you."

"It's Barnes. Steve's driving."

"Good - you gotta get to the Tower ASAP. Red's in trouble."

"We know - we were on our way."

"What? How do you know? We just received the video from Strucker. Did he send you anything?"

"Baron von Strucker...That Hydra scum sent you something? I got a call from Nat's lawyer. He received an emergency signal from her."

"Oh shit. Guys - get your asses here as fast as you can. I'll explain when you're there."

"I don't care what you do Steve, but if we're not at the Tower in 5 minutes, I'm taking the wheel."

 

***

 

Stark plays the video for them as soon as they arrive. Spanning less than 3 minutes, it shows the Black Widow, tied up and unconscious in a holding cell. She appears unharmed, but who knows what shit drug she might have been given. A tall man with a military stance, identified by J.A.R.V.I.S. as Baron von Strucker gives a speech daring the Avengers to show up and to protect their own. All pretty classic stuff.

"What are we waiting for?" growls Bucky. "We should be on our way."

"We should be on our way. You're not an Avenger" replies Tony.

"Who cares? Natalia's in trouble. I won't stand there and watch."

"Look, I understand that Natasha's important to you, but you're not stable enough to go on a mission. And certainly not of that sort."

"You won't get rid of me. I'm going."

"Hey, Stark" barks Clint "every second you're wasting on this argument may cost Tasha's life. I don't care if Barnes is stable or not - he's willing to help, I'll take it. Anything to get her back alive."

"Yours are wise words, my friend. In this situation, an ally is more than welcome" agrees Thor.

"Then let's go - Avengers Assemble!" concludes Cap, leading the way to the quinjet.

 

***

 

"So, first we wait for Stark's scan of the facility. He'll locate Nat's vitals so we'll know where she is kept. Stark, Thor and Banner, you'll lead an attack on the flank closest to Natasha. Bucky, Barton and I will get in from the opposite side. Hopefully they will be distracted by your attack and send most of their troops to fight you, so we get in easy and surprise Strucker."

"I don't think we can really surprise him. This is clearly a trap" opines Bruce.

"It is. That's why we're dividing. They'll expect us to hit hard and that's what you'll be doing. With a little bit of luck they won't notice us until it's too late. Any question?"

"Yes" says Bucky dryly "can we just go already?"

They jump into action; everyone reaches their position and wait for Iron Man's input.

"Nat's kept in the left aisle, Cap. Go 'round the back."

Steve leads the way to the back entrance as Iron Man, Thor and the Hulk engage the battle on the left flank. Bucky spots and shoots all the security cameras from a safe distance and they manage to get inside the facility without being seen.

"Alright Cap, J.A.R.V.I.S.  is calculating the quickest route to her. I'm sending it to your watch" comes Tony's voice in the comm.

Most corridors are empty but they still need to neutralize several A.I.M. agents on their way to Natasha's cell. Upon turning the last corner, a small group of R.A.I.D. units shows up behind them, firing in their direction.

"Cap, Barnes, go get her" screams Clint over the noise of the fight. "I can take these."

The two super soldiers need not be told twice. They rush to the door leading to Natasha's cell, worried to their bones. But as soon as the door closes behind them, the sound of several objects being shot resonates through the hallway and they both fall unconscious, stung by multiple doses of sedative.

On the other side of the door Clint hears his teammates fall in the comm.

"Cap? Hey Cap, you okay? Barnes?"

He sprints to the door to help them, only to find it locked with vibranium bars. He's gotta find another way in.

"Stark! Cap and Barnes are down - they're trapped with Nat and I can't get in. Seems like someone was waiting for them to show up."

 

***

 

Bucky is woken up by a splash of icy cold water in the face and for a moment he thinks he is going to be put back in the ice. Strange, he thinks, they didn't wipe me. The second splash of cold water finishes to wake him up properly and he realises his hands and feet are tied with metallic cuffs that he can't crush. There's another splash of water, but it doesn't land on him. He glances to his right to find Steve, similarly restrained, glaring angrily around the room.   

Natasha is tied on the other side in a standing position, wrists and ankles pinned to metal bars on either side of her. She's awake now, intelligent eyes scanning the cell for any possible way out.

"Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Very interesting indeed" starts Strucker with a strong german accent.

"I expected the archer, to be honest, but I am not complaining. Ja, ihr seid viel besser."

Strucker pauses as if to wait for one of them to ask why, but no one takes the bait.

"Indeed, it will be my pleasure to test this device on you, Captain Rogers. You see, long ago I heard this legend of powerful stones who could grant a man extravagant powers, if he knew how to use them. For most of my life I have been looking for one of these stones. With one, I could finally bring about Hydra's new order. Some people sneered at me, called the stones fiction. But they are very real, as you will soon witness, for I have found one."

Natasha rolls her eyes at Strucker's pompous speech. Villains all give the same kind of speeches. They speak of an ideal, of being made fun of while pursuing it. They revel in the instant, believing glory to be at hand. It gets boring fast.

"And it seems that you, Avengers, have lead me to it; you again, that made its use possible. Of course I had to deal with Victor von Doom to reverse-engineer some of Howard Stark's technology so we could extract the stone from Loki's scepter. I also needed a device to allow me to use it, which is what we will be testing today. Thank you, Captain Rogers, for kindly volunteering for this little experiment."

Steve's determined expression as Strucker approaches him make his face appear harder, more chiseled. He looks as though he's made of stone, thinks Natasha, like he's indestructible. Beside him Bucky sits similarly, dark eyed and murderous.

Baron von Strucker produces an oval-shaped device from his vest pocket, places it into the palm of his right hand and presses it against Steve's forehead. Natasha holds her breath with apprehension, but still has the presence of mind to force a neutral expression on her face. Steve's eyes flash with an abnormal shade of blue, the same she's once seen in her best friend's eyes. Panic invades her guts - no, not this, not mind control. Anything but this. She glances at Bucky, desperate and worried, but he gives no sign of emotion, face perfectly molded in his Winter Soldier mask.

"And now, just like that, you are in my control!" annonces Strucker. "I wish to witness to what extent."

Strucker signals to the few guards to free Steve from his restraints. "Now. I want you to hurt her."

As Steve walks toward her, Natasha feels her heart fill with poignant sorrow, a peak of regret. He might kill her. He's strong enough to. She watches him, gloom but unafraid, as he prepares to hit her and she braces herself for his blow, praying to whatever entity might take pity on her that he wouldn't kill her, so that he wouldn't have to live with the guilt of her death.

His first hit lands on her stomach, hard and unforgiving, cutting the air from her lungs. On the other side of the room Yasha thrashes wildly, yells their names. Steve's right hook lands on her left temple, cutting her skin and stunning her. She wobbles on her feet, only held upright by her restraints. Never, when she'd sparred with Steve had he ever used that kind of brute strength, even when she asked him not to hold back. How many of these powerful blows can she withstand?

"Sehr gut" says Strucker after a little while. At least two or three of her ribs are cracked and she's pretty sure her shoulder is dislocated, her restraints not allowing for proper absorption. Her fragile wrist might also be cracked, but she's not sure; her nose is broken, abundantly bleeding all over the lower half of her face and she has several cuts on her temples and forehead. She's hurting all over, but it's okay; he hasn't killed her, hasn't even seriously injured her. She perceives everything in a haze, her head feeling like it's about to explode. Yasha's relentless screams seem to pierce through her skull, sharp and cutting.

"Now, how about we try the same thing on the Winter Soldier? This one is used to obeying. I'm certain he will be easy to control."

Natasha watches through half-lidded eyes as Strucker extends his arm to press his device against Bucky's forehead.

"Noooooooooooo!!!!!" His knuckles go pale with effort as he resists the hurtful invasion of his mind. "Noooo, never again! Leave me alone!"  

Suddenly he's up and choking Strucker with his metal arm, his crushed restraints falling to the floor with a loud clank.

"You hurt Natasha" he spits venomously "it'll be the last thing you did on Earth."

"What are you waiting for, guards, Captain America! Fight him!" urges Strucker, already half-choked.

Bucky lets go of Strucker and turns to the guards, striking three unconscious in a matter of seconds, alternating between masterful blows and kicks. He succeeds in putting half the guards down before Steve gets to him. The battle that opposes them then is one of the most painful Natasha's ever had to watch. Every blow they land on each other breaks her heart; these two men whom she loved, who loved each other like brothers, forced to fight a merciless battle against each other. She knows Bucky must win, yet she can't quite stand the sight of him punching Steve's face with his metal fist, knowing just how much it costs him to do it.

Steve is at advantage; his power unrestrained, he's stronger and faster than the Winter Soldier and he attacks smartly, knowing of his opponent's weaknesses. But Bucky doesn't yield, blocking blow after blow, footwork steady. His rage seems to augment his strength and Natasha can barely stand to watch as he throws Steve to the floor, pushing on his arm in a studied angle. The loud, sinister crack that resonates through the cell and the sorrowful scream that follows it will probably haunt her forever, but the maneuver gives Bucky ample time to finally knock Steve out.

He turns back to Strucker then, a vision straight from hell, thirst for revenge gleaming into his dark eyes. In one lethal, swift movement he catches him by the throat, pushing him to the wall like a broken rag doll.

"You hurt Natasha."

Bucky throws a vicious punch to Strucker's gut.

"You tried to control me."

Another punch lands in his ribs.

"I will hurt you so bad, you'll be begging me to kill you."

This time his metal fist connects with Strucker's jaw, hard enough to break it. His mouth fills with blood and he coughs a tooth out, spitting it on the floor. Bucky reaches into his vest - their weapons had been taken away, but no one could ever completely disarm the Winter Soldier. The amount of knives he carries around is too astounding to be deemed plausible, and one or two are always forgotten.

As he presses the blade against Strucker's throat, intent on hurting him further, Natasha's voice rises from the silence, echoing through the cell.

"Yasha. Don't do it."

"He hurt you, Natalia. He deserves to die."

"Maybe. But it's not your place to kill him."

"I promised myself, never again I'd watch you be tortured."

"Killing him won't erase what happened. It'll make you feel worse."

"I'm pretty sure it'll feel great."

"On the moment, yes it will. But later? Don't choose to be a killer, Yasha."

For what seems like a long moment, nothing is said. Bucky holds Strucker into place forcefully, eyes zeroed in on him like he's weighing out his options.

"Know that you owe your life to the grace of the Black Widow. But I will personally make certain, that the rest of it is miserable."

 

***

 

When Stark, Barton, Thor and the Hulk finally rescue them, Bucky is holding Natasha in his arms, sitting next to Steve's limp body on the floor of the cell. Around them lie the knocked out guards and the unconscious form of Baron von Strucker, tied up with the restraints that had been used on Steve.

Clint runs to Natasha, a comical mix of worry and relief on his traits.

"Shit, Tasha. Are you okay? God - what happened to Cap?"

"I'll tell you on the way. We all need medical attention. Stark - Barnes captured Strucker."

"Good. I'll handle it, Red. You and Barnes, go back to the jet with Barton. Thor, can you pick up Cap?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's line: ''You hurt Natasha, it will be the last thing you've done on Earth'' (or similar, I'm quoting from memory) is something he actually says in the Marvel Now! Black Widow series. I liked it so much I had to use it. 
> 
> As usual, thank you for reading. We're slowly but steadily reaching the end. I'm not sure how I feel about that...


	13. Gone Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took me a little longer than usual to upload. I had so much trouble with this chapter! Something about it bothered me for weeks. I rewrote almost half of it tonight, mostly I deleted a lot of useless stuff. So it is a little on the short side, but it satisfies me a lot better this way. To make up for it, chapter 14 is a lot longer! And exciting...mmm....
> 
> Also, I forgot to mention that it was actually my boyfriend's idea to use the mind stone for this story. In the beginning when I was writing the outline, I tried real hard to come up with an intricate plot, something original. But I'm somewhat of a lousy action writer and I was giving myself headaches over it. Then he came up with the easy solution. I took it!

_When the beautiful awake_

_See the sadness in their eyes_

_Will they ever find a way_

_To sleep side by side?_

\- Norah Jones, Little Broken Hearts

 

Clint sits with her in the medical room. He's bruised, dirty and exhausted, but he sits straight and holds her hand silently and she's grateful for his presence. The doctors left some time ago, leaving her high on morphine and stitched all over, ribs bandaged and her wrist in a cast - again. She looks terrible, swollen face covered with red and purple bruises, but she's not severely wounded. It could have been so much worse.

Stark walks in wearing the dark and worried expression he reserves only for when one of the Avengers or Pepper is hurt or in danger.

"How're you feeling, Nat?" he asks. His tone is neutral and dispassionate, but it's missing its sarcastic edge;  probably his way of showing gentleness.

"Like I've been hit by an 18-wheeler."

Stark gives a side nod and a shallow smile. "I guess that's not an inaccurate comparison."

She doesn't answer. It hurts too much to speak and small talk with Tony always gives her a headache. She doesn't want to risk worsening the persistent throbbing in her skull.

"How are Cap and Barnes?" asks Clint.

"Cap's been looked after by the doctors. They're keeping him sedated for now. Barnes is fine, we're keeping him in his former recovery room for observation. They're going to scan his brain for signs of latent mind control."  
"And Strucker?"

"Locked up. J.A.R.V.I.S. is currently running tests on his device. Natasha, I need a detailed account of what went on down there. Do you think you can give me that?"

"Of course. The main thing you need to know is that Doom is involved."

"What?"

"Strucker said he had needed Doom's help to reverse engineer some of your father's technology in order to use the mind controlling device."

"Fuck" exclaims Clint, alarmed "we all know Doom is not the kind to work for anyone. He wouldn't have left the opportunity of owning a mind-controlling stone slip him by."

"Anyone of you spies know how to contact Fury? I want him in to interrogate Strucker."

 

***

 

Isaiah is standing on the bank of the Hudson river with his hands neatly folded behind his back, hair rustled by the strong wind. Several yellowed leaves are scattered on the ground and they crack with a crisp sound under the sole of his shoes as he shuffles from one feet to the other nervously. The sun is slowly setting - the days are tangibly getting shorter now - and he watches his own shadow shift and disappear as it finally cedes to the moon. He doesn't hear her approaching, but isn't surprised by her proximity when she suddenly talks.

"Thank you for coming, Isaiah."

"Of course." He waits for her to start the conversation, but she keeps silent, gaze seemingly unfocused.

"So I guess we won't be seeing each other in a long time."

She shakes her head. "We'll talk. I still need to keep my cash flow going, so."

"Yeah."

"I really appreciate what you've done for me."

"You're my client. You pay me to execute your requests. Don't thank me for that."

"We're a little past the employer-employee relationship, don't you think?"

"Are we? What I am to you, then?"  
His question is very unlike him and it catches her off guard a little. "Someone...someone I can count on. An ally. A counselor, even."

He looks at her earnestly, gaze direct and unimpressed. Blue and yellowish bruises are covering most of her face and several stitch lines are still visible on her temples and forehead. It's not pretty.

"Then, as your ally and counselor, I'll tell you what I think. You're running away. You were better in the last months. I could see it. You were a little on edge, but you were happier and freer. You even adopted the cat! And now you're turning your back on everything you had, on all that progress you've made, because you're scared. I think you should stay and face it."

"You're wrong, Isaiah. I'm not running away. I'm leaving because what I truly want is impossible to get. I don't want people hurt for my sake. Think of it this way; i'll just be disappearing for a little while, until things are forgotten and we can all start anew."    

Night has properly fallen by now. They look at the reflection of the moon on the river, listening to the sounds of the water being carried by the currents, crashing softly on the banks.   

"As I said, you're my employer and I will do as you need."  

 

***

 

Bucky is nearing the end of his legendary patience when Stark and his specialists finally release him from observation. It has been seven days and he hasn't been allowed to see Steve or Natasha for fear that he might be triggered at their sight. In the first days, he had argued that the mind control hadn't affected him in the first place - that he'd fought it with everything that he had, succeeded in resisting it - but given his history, the doctors had estimated it risky to let him run around until they were certain, beyond doubt, that there were no aftereffects to the spell.

The first thing he does, the day they let him out,  is to visit Steve in his own recovery room. Captain America had also been kept under careful examination and had been cleared on the same morning; they could finally go home and see Natasha. Bucky is looking forward to that, has spent most of his time in the last seven days thinking about everything he would tell her when he saw her again. He sees clearer now; Stark's doctors all thought that his fight with Strucker and the whole mind control thing would trigger him or traumatize him, but in fact the opposite took place. For the first time in 70 years, he feels truly like himself. His former confidence returned unaltered and his mood is overall better; he feels strong, healthy, unstoppable. The Winter Soldier has not overtook him, he - Bucky Barnes - has won against him, has finally, unequivocally come out on top. He is free.  

Steve notices the change in his friend as soon as he sets foot in the room. It is something in the way he carries himself, perhaps, or maybe, the almost imperceptibly softened lines on his face, but he is different and immediately he understands that his old Bucky is back, 100% back. For a moment the sight distracts him from the weight of his thoughts and he walks to his friend, proud and happy, to pull him into a sincere, albeit awkward half-hug - due to the cast on this broken arm.

"Buck - I feel like shit."

"I know. It’s okay."

"When I told you, nothing you did was really your fault,  because it wasn’t your choice, you said...even though you never were in control, you had committed those acts. You said, it was your hand holding the gun. Well I...I know what you meant now."

"Yeah... Things like that...they can never truly be known until they’re etched into your flesh. Steve - it’s okay. The important thing is, you’re right. It was not my fault, even though I am guilty. It’s the same for you. Natasha understands that."

"Thank God I didn’t kill her - I can’t help thinking, what if Strucker had ordered me to, would I have...?"

His throat burns as he chokes down a sob, face buried into Bucky's chest. A warm hand strokes his back up and down soothingly, only it doesn't really make him feel better.

"Hey, hey now...I would never have let you do that, you know that, right? I got your back Steve, just like you have mine. Even if that sometimes means beating each other half to death." Bucky tries for a joke, attempting to lighten the mood. Steve gathers himself, stepping back with renewed aplomb.

"Well, an arm for an arm" he says, a small grin playing on his lips.

"Don’t go thinking that makes us even, punk. I already had to save your sorry ass twice in this century. I swear I goddamn exist only for that. Come on, let’s go home."

 

***

 

Bucky walks into the apartment first, turning on the lights to find Liho sitting in the hallway, head cocked to the side with curiosity. He stops dead in his tracks, causing Steve to bump into him on the threshold.

"What are you doing here, little kitty?" he asks, mind already compiling possible reasons.

"Isn't that Natasha's cat?"

"Yeah, yeah it is."

Liho seems happy to recognize Bucky and trots forward to rub its head against his calf, purring contentedly. Steve squats down, tentatively extending his hand toward the cat.

"Hey little buddy. Where's your owner?"

Liho shoots him a disdainful glare, then promptly proceeds to ignore him, walking away coldy like an offended mistress. They follow it into the living room, where they find its litter box, along with two huge bags of cat food, several toys and a duffle bag full of clothes, guns and knives Bucky had left at Natasha's apartment.

"Shit."  
"Fucking hell."

"She left."

Bucky is out the door in seconds and the whole street hears the aggressive screech of the tires as he drives off, frantic and irritated. He knows it is too late; she's long gone, probably on another continent by now, but some masochistic twist in his gut forces him to go there, to assess the damage with his own eyes. It is as expected; the apartment is empty, the lock has been changed. In the front window is hung a bright notice that reads "for rent" in bold capital letters, with a phone number below.      

She's gone.

 

***

 

Steve and Bucky sit on opposite ends of the table, their meal going cold in their plates. Steve has just hung up from a conversation with Clint, confirming their suspicions. The archer had explained that Natasha probably thought she'd become a liability for them. It was likely that she felt guilty to have caused a situation where they'd been pitted at each other. Natasha did not bear well the closeness of others - she was utterly afraid of losing the people most important to her.

"Tasha likes to pretend she doesn’t care about anything or anyone. Pulls the icy glare, scares everyone away. It’s all a show she puts on for fear of getting hurt." Clint had said. "She’s attempting to put distance between you and her, so you can all forget what happened and start anew."

"I don't want to forget" states Bucky. "I don't want to forget a single thing in my life ever again." His tone is hard-edged and his eyes gleam with resolve and decisiveness.  

"And I've had my share of new beginnings. I don't want one" replies Steve, his expression mirroring his friend's.

"I love her."

"I know. So do I."

"Fine by me."

Suddenly their lips crack into smiles full of complicity, each knowing exactly what the other is thinking.

  
"Well" chuckles Steve "if there is anyone on Earth who can catch the Black Widow at her own game, that would be you. Go after her, Buck. And bring her back home." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will finally earn its mature rating in the following chapters. You've been warned...! ;)


	14. Global Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I'm actually nervous to post this. I hope I've done well and that it turned how to be as exciting as I first imagined it when I planned out the storyline - smut appears a lot easier to write than it actually is!

_Tell me, lover, are you lonely?_

_The thing we need is_

_Never all that hard to find_

-Red Hot Chili Peppers, Tell me baby

 

Probably expecting them to come after her, Natasha had covered her tracks particularly well. Bucky knew of her most common identities and had tried to link them with plane tickets and other necessary purchases but ended up with nothing. She had plenty more personas and would likely switch between them as she went - she may even use some simultaneously if she wished to create false trails and dead-ends. There were two possibilities, he reasoned; either she’d kept her web or she abandoned it. If she kept it, she needed to maintain her cash flow to finance it, which meant that she would take on missions. If she hadn’t, things would be a lot more complicated.

Bucky sits across Natasha’s lawyer in a dim, deserted bar with grey-violet walls and a dozen of tables scattered across a creaking wooden floor. There is some weird rock music playing in the background and two big guys wearing torn jeans and hoodies playing pool in the back of the room. Behind his counter, the barman, a bald guy sporting a black t-shirt, arms full of tattoos,  looks bored and lonely. In his neat striped suit and shiny leather shoes, Ross looks extremely out of place, although it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Bucky, more casually attired, blends better with the decor.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes. I am certain you will understand that I am bound to professional secrecy. I cannot reveal any details on Miss Romanov's infrastructure or on her whereabouts, unless in case of emergency."

"Of course. But I believe you should consider this an emergency."

"I doubt her life is endangered."

"Answer this at least; is she still your client?"

Knowing what his answer would likely reveal to Barnes, Isaiah looks into the other man’s eyes intently, carefully thinking of a proper response.

"If someone loved you very much, so that your happiness was the only thing that she wanted in the world, but she did a bad thing to make certain of it, would you forgive her?"

Surprised, Bucky frowns. "What?"  

"It's from a favourite movie of mine" says Ross, standing to leave and setting down a few bills on the table. "You should watch it."

 

***

 

It takes Bucky three days to find her. Casablanca is a populous city and he's not familiar with it, which complicates his task. By the third afternoon, he starts to fear that Natasha has moved on elsewhere or worse, that her lawyer had been misleading him with that cryptic quote. Lacking essential intel on her assignment and location, he decides to scour another district for some kind of lead. The sun is high and hot above, a bright, lonely point in the infinite blue, unclouded sky. The heat of the narrow, busy streets would be scorching without the fresh, salty breeze coming from the sea. He mentally maps the colorful passages and alleys of the medina, carefully scanning the crowd. The huge open-air market fascinates him and he slowly tours it, invaded by delicious, unfamiliar scents.  He's contemplating buying olives and cheese when a loud commotion at the end of another row captures his attention. Three masked and armed individuals run into the market, violently elbowing their way through the crowd. There's panicked shouting when one of them shoots at an olive oil display, the bottles crashing loudly to the ground. In the fear-induced mass movement that follows, Bucky almost misses Natasha running in pursuit of the three thugs.

His body is on the move before his brain can fully register the situation. He trails her from a distance, not wanting to reveal himself at this point. He doesn't wish to get involved in her case; that would likely earn him a punch in the face or some other just as welcome token of gratefulness. The bandits lead Natasha in a more modern, industrial-oriented district, where taller buildings allow Bucky to get a vantage point. There is some confused shouting in Arabic and suddenly six other thugs swarm the parking where Natasha is engaging the fight with the first three. With the first strikes it becomes clear that her opponents are well trained in close combat, managing to dodge the Black Widow's blows. She is smarter, however, and a hell of a lot more experienced, rapidly putting 4 guys down with well-aimed kicks and two shots of her pistol. She executes a complicated manoeuvre to bring down a fifth thug when a tall, beefy guy catches her by the left wrist, yanking her back sharply. Natasha involuntarily lets out a howl and Bucky realizes with dread that her left wrist is probably still healing from the beating she took because of Strucker. She tries to kick her assailant's knees, but he spins her around in a swift motion, twisting her arm behind her back. Natasha shoots one of the guy's teammates who was preparing to shoot her and quickly  lowers her gun to aim at the thug's feet, but he yanks the pistol from her hand, tossing it to the ground. A menacing silver blade is pressed against her neck and Bucky, who cannot stand to watch anymore, angrily presses the trigger of his SR25. The beefy man falls to the ground clutching his bleeding shoulder; Natasha, with absolutely no hesitation, kicks him hard in the face and he falls limp on the asphalt. She glances in Bucky's direction and the remaining bandits, understanding their disadvantage, start to flee. She sends widow's bites flying, hitting their backs.

Bucky joins her in the parking as she searches the thugs for a stolen USB stick

"How did you trace me here?" she asks upon hearing him approach, not even bothering to glance at him.

"I didn't. I'm on vacation. The climate's nice, the food is good... What can I say? I wanted to see the Mediterranean."

Natasha rolls her eyes impatiently.

"Yeah, and I'm the Hulk"

"Natashenka" he starts, stepping closer to her, "what are you doing? Steve, Liho and I, we want you home."

She finally turns to him, her expression composed and unreadable.

"I am the Black Widow, Yasha. I don't have a home. That's what makes me good at what I do."

"Last spring you said you wouldn't necessarily know a home if you had one. You have one, now."

"And what's that? A three-way relationship with you and Rogers? These kinds of things don't work."

"We could give it a try."

She inches closer to him, cold and calculated. Too late it occurs to him that he should not have let his guard down.

"Waste of time" she mouths, pressing the button of her right wrist. A mean jolt of electricity runs through his body and everything turns black.

 

***

 

What won't he endure for love, reflects Bucky as he hauls himself up a few minutes later. The Moroccan thugs are still out of it, limp bodies scattered in the parking lot. He calls the police from a pay phone and deserts the scene hastily, cursing Natasha's stubbornness.

Back in the safety of his hotel room, he sends Ross a short email.

_Loved the movie, but sad ending :( . Anymore recommendations?_

 

***

 

At Hlavni Nadrazi, he buys a city map. He's been in Prague before, twice, on assignment, but the landscape has changed a lot since Czech Republic gained independence from the U.S.S.R. in 1993. He's fairly certain Natasha must have a safe house here, given the country's strategic location, but Ross's reply hadn't alluded to it. Bucky takes out his phone to check the message again.

_Are you a romantic, Mr. Barnes? I really like Juliette Binoche in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Do you know that movie was adapted from a book?_

Walking in Bucky wonders if the last sentence contained a clue; on their own, the first two were entirely sufficient for him to deduce where Natasha had gone. Why bother adding a third?

He writes back:

_In that I case I suppose I should read the book first. Where can I find it?_

Almost instantly, Ross's reply appears onscreen.

_Why, like any other book. At the library._

 

***

 

Prague's National Library is huge and magnificent with its high walls and rich, dark colours. It has a commanding atmosphere, and gives he visitor the impression of entering a museum more than entering a library. At the end of a distant lonely row in the foreign books section, Bucky finds Natasha's sitting in a small loveseat, reading a copy of Tolstoy's Kreutzer Sonata in original russian.

"Reading russian, Natashenka? Are you homesick?" He sits next to her.

"Tolstoy has nothing to do with the Russia I grew up in" answers the red-headed spy without lifting her eyes from the page. "He's always so grounded. Whenever I read him, it makes me feel like there is something solid in the universe to rely on."

"I wish you wouldn't say that while reading a book on doomed marriages."

This catches her attention and she looks at him, one eyebrow raised in curiosity, the right corner or her lips slightly quirking up.

"How do you know about this book? I've only seen you read american stuff."

"You are aware that Tolstoy was a published author in the 1900's, are you?"

"Really? Tell me more about this James Buchanan Barnes who read russian literature in his youth. I'm interested."

"That was only in my spare time, I mean, whenever I wasn't pulling Steve's poor ass from back alley fights."

"Or dating girls."

"Or working. No kidding I had a dozens different jobs. At thirteen I learned to cut glass in the basement of the general store where I worked. We repaired broken windows - these retractable double windows, you know, we'd take off the inner ones in summer and stored them until October. Somehow one always ended up broken. In early autumn I also chopped wood by the train tracks. A guy named Mackenzie received these shipments of whole tree trunks, and we cut them and sold them around for the winter."

"So young and already husband material" says Natasha teasingly, "I'm impressed".

Bucky shrugs. "I had sisters."

His heart constricts a little at the thought of his sisters and he grabs Natasha by the waist, pulling her to him. Her face is close and he looks into her eyes with an intense, earnest gaze.

"You and Steve, you're all I have now. I love you. Please let me take care of you."

When she kisses him he thinks he's won her over and he imagines what he'll tell Steve on the phone later and how he'll react when he'll announce he and Natasha are coming home. He gets a little lost in his reverie, hand buried in her hair as he presses her closer, savouring the taste of her mouth. It's slow and intoxicating, the way she moves her lips against his and it sends goosebumps all over his skin, leaving him caught up with want.

"Just let me put this book back" she says, breaking up the kiss. Her face is flushed and her green eyes shine a shade darker. He's too drugged with his own happiness to stand and nods with a lazy, amorous smile. He watches her ass sway as she walks down the row, her small frame outlined by the incredibly high bookshelves.

She never comes back.

 

***

 

Two weeks later, Ross sends another "movie recommendation" that takes him to Singapore. This time when he spots Natasha, Bucky is careful not to reveal himself and tails her around town until she enters an ordinary looking building he would never have taken for an hotel. He gives her half an hour before letting himself in after her. Putting his charm to good use, he manages to convince the receptionist that he's Natasha's husband and that he wants to surprise her.

"What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic!" He says, pulling his best smile.

The unsuspecting lady hands him a magnetic card, a glint of complicity in her eyes. She looks pleased to be involved in his romantic shenanigans.  

A little stunned that his trick actually worked, Bucky walks to Natasha's room and swipes his card against the magnetic decoder. He opens the door, swerving just in time to avoid a vicious kick to the chin.

"Stop it Natalia, it's me."

Her hair is damp, hanging loose and wavy over her shoulders. She's wearing small cotton shorts and that t-shirt she stole from Steve and never gave back. Her arms are crossed in a defying attitude but he's having none of that today.

"Why don't you just give it up, Barnes. I'm not coming back to New York."

"That's not why I am here" he states, taking two steps in her direction.

"Why, then?"

He pulls on her wrist, yanking her right into his chest.

"You're the Black Widow. Your kisses are like a drug."

He lowers his lips, capturing hers in a rapturous, sensual motion.

"I've come for more."

"Then you're a fool."

"So it would seem."

Suddenly she laughs, a pretty, coquettish laugh, but her hilarity seems genuine.

"Yasha, we are a pair of ex-soviet spies and assassins. How are you making my life into a harlequin novel?"

He lets his hands slowly slip down her body, appreciating the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips before finally resting them on her ass.

"I have no idea what that is."

If she kisses him then, it's only to wipe that smug grin off his face, she tells herself as she swirls her tongue inside his hot mouth, leaning her weight against him. He feels strong and solid and smells of the same old-fashioned aftershave Steve likes to use. He tugs upward the fabric of her shorts, revealing the bare skin underneath and she gasps at the coldness of his metallic fingers. He starts kissing her neck eagerly as he glides both hands up to peel off her t-shirt; immediately the kisses are directed to the soft expanse of her breasts. He licks and kisses and gently bites her right nipple, rolling the left one between his fingers as she arches her back against his bionic arm, giving in to the pleasurable sensations. She tugs on his black t-shirt weakly and he stops his ministrations long enough to pull it off.

The long desired skin to skin contact drives them both a little wild and the touching and kissing frantically escalate. They are both naked when he finally tosses her on the bed, legs pulled up and apart as he kneels on the floor to bury his face in her cunt. She's so wet it oozes out of her and he happily laps it all, sliding his tongue flat against her slit, a swift motion from her clit to her anus and up again. She writhes and tugs on his hair and he pushes his tongue inside her folds, powerfully thrusting against her swollen flesh. The scent of her arousal is as addictive as her kisses and Bucky thinks he's never going to get enough of this woman. He curls the tip of his tongue around her clit teasingly, once, twice, and she bucks her hips upwards, pushing herself against his mouth. He feels her coming apart as he sucks her engorged bud, alternating in intensity, feels her shake with pleasure, her thighs involuntarily tightening around his head as she rides through her orgasm.

He gives her another smug grin when she looks up to him, his mouth and chin slick with spit and arousal and though she has just come, her lust unfurls even more powerfully at the sight.

"C'mere" she says, tugging on his neck, and she pushes herself back to lie on the bed completely. He follows her motion, hovering over her form but not quite touching. With a smug smirk of her own she flips them around to straddle his abdomen and dips to kiss him, her long hair falling all around his face and tickling his shoulders. She tastes herself on his lips, rolling her hips teasingly and he moans in her mouth, eyes closed shut.

Suddenly she jumps off the bed to grab a pair of pantyhose and a long black scarf. A wicked smile dances on her lips as she walks back to him, seductively swaying her hips. She captures his mouth again and he lets her pin his arms above his head obediently, not even stirring as she ties them to the bedpost with the pantyhose.

"Natashka" he says, breathless as she pulls away.

"Shhh, Yasha. Let me take care of you."

She folds the scarf and uses it to blindfold him, making sure the layers of dark fabric are enough to block his vision. Then she latches on his neck, leaving a trail of hickies down to his collarbone. Bucky thrusts his hips upwards when she flicks her thumbs over his nipples, aching with want. She takes her time, teasing him with kisses and caresses designed to drive him wild. She cups his balls, rolling them in her hand gently before licking along his shaft with the tip of her tongue, eliciting a strangled moan. Wrapping her fingers around his cock she starts to pump it slowly while taking one of his balls in her mouth, sucking it very gently before switching to the other. The sensation makes him gasp and he blindingly tries treach for her, craving more contact. She lets him find her hand and sucks a little longer on his balls before finally setting her attention on his cock. She flicks her tongue on the tip, licking the droplets of pre-cum already gathering there and swiftly takes him in her mouth. Bucky wishes he could see her, pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, bobbing her head up and down. He lets a string a unintelligible moans when he feels it hit the back of her throat, his hips involuntarily bucking into her.

"Baby, you need to stop. I won't last."

"Oh? You getting old? From what I remember you can go on and on."

"Still can. I just don't want to come like that. I wanna be inside you."

"Mmm. Don't blame it on me later, then, ok?"

He has no idea what she means by that but her mouth is back on his dick and he can't think straight. He's inches from coming when she finally lets go and he feels her get off the bed.

"You're so gorgeous" she whispers, gliding the tips of her fingers along his sternum. "It makes me want to devour you."

"Believe me, you just did."

"Tell me, Yasha, what do you want to do to me?"

Her voice sounds a little far away, but through the haze of his lust he doesn't find it odd.

"Baby I want to make you cum again and again until you forget your name and only know mine. I'll have you screaming it non-stop just eating you out and you'll beg me to fuck your pink tight cunt until you can't walk straight."

Natasha leaves a trail of butterflies kisses on his neck, cupping his balls.

"That sounds hot" she says, kissing his mouth. "Let me get the lube."

That sentence sends Bucky's already fuzzy mind reeling. What has she in mind to even bother with lube? The possibility that she is into anal sex arouses him wildly; he can't help picturing his thick cock thrusting in and out of her perfect ass. He bucks against his restraints, aching to be touched, to touch her again. Lost in his fantasy, it takes him a little too long to realise that the room has gone eerily quiet. In seconds he rips the pantyhose and tears the scarf from his face.

Natasha's clothes are gone.

Her black duffle bag is gone.  

She's gone.

 

***

 

Steve laughs so much when Bucky recounts him what happened with Natasha that he almost chokes to death.

"This has to be the most severe case of blue balls in history. I can't believe she did that!"

"I can't believe you let her blindfold you. She's the Black Widow, that's her game. You want to catch her at it don't let her dictate the rules. Eh, one would think the U.S.S.R. taught better strategy to their assets."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, you're the star spangled man with a plan and you know better than all of us fools."

"I didn't say that."

"But you implied it. By the way, how's it going on your side? You guys have caught Doom yet?"  
"Not yet. But we set a plan in motion. Strucker's given Fury all the juicy details, although I can't say that I approve of his interrogation techniques..."

"Eh, they're probably better than Natalia's. If you know what I mean."

 

***

 

The next time he runs into Natasha, he pulls her forcefully into a deserted alley in the proximity of Wallaby Way (Ross's movie recommendation had been Nemo) and pushes her against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head with his metal hand. She fights a little first but definitely kisses back when he presses his lips to hers, shamelessly devouring her mouth. He lets his flesh hand roam over her body, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples through the fabric of her clothes. Wasting no time he jerks down the zipper of her pants and slips his fingers in her panties to find her soaked cunt and push past her lips. Curling two long fingers inside of her he drinks her moans, breathing in her scent.

"Like to leave me hanging, Natashenka? Uh? Well this is what naughty girls get."

She writhes against him, arching her back. He nuzzles her neck and licks the shell of her ear, his hair tickling her skin.

"I want you so much, baby. We want you so much, Steve and I. You need to come home so we can love you and kiss you and make love to you. We'll take good care of you, I promise. You'll be the happiest, most well-fucked woman on the planet."

He flicks his thumb over her clit and she violently bucks her hips forward, wide-eyed and swollen lips slightly parted.

"We'll take turns with you. Steve will eat you out while I kiss your neck until you shiver, and then I will slip my fingers in you just like now, and Steve will suck on your clit and you will come so hard you will fall limp in my arms. But we won't be nearly finished with you and Steve will push his long fat cock inside your drenched, slick pussy and...oh no, baby you don't get to come today!"

Bucky pulls his fingers out of her just as her orgasm was building and she tries to push herself against his palm in frustration. He smirks at her, lifting his hand out of her panties and to his mouth. He licks one of his fingers clean, pushes the second in her own mouth so she can taste herself.

"You don't get to cum 'till you come home, honey."

And just as suddenly as he came, he leaves her, weak-kneed and disheveled, to burn with lust and love in a lonely Sydney street.

 

***

 

She waits for him in Sao Paulo, even extending her trip an extra day to allow him to catch up to her, but Yasha never shows up. Trying to ignore the sharp twinge of deception his absence causes her, she moves on to her next mission, not so carefully covering up her tracks in the secret hope he would follow her to Quito.

Her job there is a simple tailing assignment; she has been hired to spy on a crooked politician and report a detailed account of his daily actions. An easy task, but she's so preoccupied with trying to distinguish Yasha from the crowd that she almost loses sight of her target twice. Annoyed with herself and her unsettling inability to better control her expectations, she spends the little free time she has doing yoga and breathing exercises to clear her mind - mostly in vain. Yasha's whispered words that last time in Sydney had firmly taken root in the fertile, wanting soil of her imagination, unfurling tantalizing visions of a not-so-unattainable future where she fit right between the two men that she loved. The cartesian, reasonable side of her scoffed at the thought, chalking it to pure fantasy; such a relationship would be awfully hard to maintain and to give it a try was to condemn two valuable friendships. Natasha had very few friends; she could not afford to lose two of her most precious ones over something that was probably little more than a sexual fantasy and that therefore would soon wear out, the strength of her feelings notwithstanding.

In bed at night she cannot refrain from picturing them, Steve and Yasha, taking turns kissing her until her mind is reeling, passing her between them in their strong, loving arms, claiming her, protecting her. It would be so good, so easy, to finally let go, to once and for all let her carefully constructed barriers down; to truly let them in. Palm flat against her mound she presses down on her clit, arousing herself further as she imagines herself sandwiched between them, handing herself over. Her skilled fingers work her swollen bud to orgasm as her desire to lose control grows and expands, however remaining unsatisfied even after she's come moaning their names into the pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Wallaby Way and that address in Nemo do not really exist, but let's pretend, okay? ;) 
> 
> Final chapter hopefully coming soon - if I can fix what I don't like about it. Thank you for reading :)


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